For You (There's Nothing I Wouldn't Do)
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: "What are you going to do, Lydia?" Yet, the answer was simple enough to Lydia Martin. She was going to get Stiles back. *season 3B spoilers, hurt!Lydia, Stydia, possessed!Stiles, season 3 AU*
1. In the Dark

_**Author's Note: **__This will probably be AU by the time this season ends, but this is just one way that I can picture it turning out. I'm new to this fandom, so forgive me if anyone seems terribly out of character. Spoilers for season three. Please enjoy!_

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><p>"<em>I will fight your fight<em>

_I will hold you tight_

_And I won't let go."_

—_Rascal Flatts, "I Won't Let Go"_

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><p>"What are you going to do, Lydia?"<p>

Alison had asked her that, eyes wide and misted over with unshed tears. In that dim hospital room with the monitors that slowly beeped and the chairs designed for long vigils, her best friend had met her gaze, clearly about to splinter into a million pieces. It was one thing to be hurt yourself in a fight.

It was another to watch someone you cared about go down. For Alison, seeing Isaac being injured so critically had almost done in her already fragile mental state. And for the strawberry blonde girl that considered herself a member of the pack, there was only one thing that could've made this already awful situation even worse.

Stiles—her sarcastic, caring, adoring Stiles had wrapped one hand around the werewolf's neck and nearly snapped it in half before Scott had gotten the situation in hand. Stiles had fled; the twins in hot pursuit. Isaac had been rushed to the hospital and as Lydia let her eyes glance around the room, she could see most of the pack was here as well. Scott—so old, so burdened; when had he been forced to grow up so quickly?—in the corner, eyes trained on the floor. Kira, by his side, rubbing comforting circles on his back. Derek leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, gaze dark and deadly and Mrs. McCall, fluttering in and out whenever she could, desperately wanting to do something.

"Lydia?" Alison's grip had been tight around her hand, almost painful and Lydia knew why. She was afraid to lose someone else she cared about. In their already messed up world with creatures that went bump in the night, they had come to rely upon each other.

They were a family—a messed up, crazy, happy family.

"It's okay," Her voice had come out a whisper, but it did the trick. The soothing tone gave Alison enough comfort to get her to release her friend's hand. Lydia kneeled down to meet the hunter's frightened eyes. "Alison, I promise that it will be okay." She had grinned and she watched with relief as some of the tension left her friend's frame.

"Lydia?" Alison started, clarity suddenly alighting her eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to bring him back."

* * *

><p>She didn't have very many memories of third grade.<p>

She hadn't had many friends back then. She'd been the smart one—able to do 5th grade math and read at a 6th grade level—but her mother had her held back in the hopes of preventing her daughter from being a social outcast. Anyways, what Lydia remembered vividly was the day someone stole her Hello Kitty stuffed animal. In hindsight, it probably had been a blessing in disguise as she had grown too attached to it, but at the time, it was the end of the world for the young girl. The teacher checked the lost and found, but to no avail. Placing a hand on the little girl's shoulder, she tried to console her.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. These things happen."

The next day at school, Stiles appeared at her desk and silently handed her new a stuffed animal, the exact same kind as her old one.

"I-I h-heard yours was lost." He mumbled by way of explanation.

"Thank you."

That was the first time Stiles had ever grinned at her.

* * *

><p>"You should leave," Stiles—not her Stiles though, she could see that—told her as she closed the metal door behind her. It closed with a clang and as she walked into the abandoned warehouse, she forced herself to remain objective. "Unless you have a death wish—?"<p>

"Stiles." She called out, unafraid. The creature inhabiting him rolled it's eyes and for a second, Lydia allowed her mind to flash back to all the times he had done that before. When had she allowed herself to care so much for him? What happened to Lydia Martin—the cold, beautiful girl that every girl wanted to be and every boy wanted to date? When had she allowed her walls to fall?

When had she fallen in love with Stiles?

"Not that again," It sighed and she could still see the bloodstains from the previous fight on his gray shirt. "I told you; Stiles is no more." He grinned maliciously. "Now, it's just me."

"I know you're there, Stiles." She kept her voice even; her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way towards him. The place was empty—just empty boxes would bare witness to what she was prepared to do tonight. "I'm going to pull you back."

"Oh, really?" He sauntered towards her until there was only a fraction of space between the two. It chilled her to see his face, so twisted beyond the Stiles she knew. "Tell me something, Lydia." He leaned in, so that their noses almost brushed. "What are you going to do?" She gathered up her courage and smiled up at the monster inhabiting Stile's body. The dagger she had hidden within her sleeve slipped out ever so much.

"Get rid of you."

* * *

><p>She used to have nightmares where she would spend the whole night running. She wasn't sure if she was being chased or if she was trying to catch someone—it never mattered—but she would always wake up and for a split second think she still had to keep spiriting.<p>

"So," Stiles asked her one day—back when she was still unaware of their secret; of who she was—after he had overheard her explain it to Alison. "What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know." Lydia mumbled, wishing he would go away so that she wouldn't have to discuss this with him. Back then, she was still putting up a façade. She didn't like to reveal her faults to anyone, even to close friends.

"No, that's not the right answer." Stiles informed her, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Excuse me?" Her eyebrow rose; she could feel anger starting to burn slowly within her. Hell hath no fury like Lydia Martin.

"See, the Lydia I know," He paused with his sandwich, putting it down on his tray. His eyes locked onto hers and for the first time, she felt compelled to hold it. The lunchroom seemed to quiet down, as if everyone was waiting to hear what he would say. It was very much like one of those romantic comedies that she binged watch whenever she felt upset. "She would fight." He beamed at her. "She wouldn't let something like a bad dream stop her."

"Is that so?" She challenged. "You're sure?"

"Of course." He answered without hesitation. Strangely enough, she felt vaguely reassured by his comments.

That was the last time she had that particular nightmare.

* * *

><p>"You'll die."<p>

She was dripping blood and had numerous bruises from where Stiles—no, the monster's hands had gotten her. She had managed to keep Stiles relatively in one piece, only using the dagger for defense. Still, she could see the writing on the wall.

She was losing. Badly.

"Stiles." Her voice cracked, tears misting over her vision.

"He can't hear you." The creature taunted. "The Stiles you knew is gone!"

Maybe it was foolish, coming here alone. It probably wasn't the logical move, but when had she ever been logical when it came to Stiles? If she made it through this, she would agree to go out with him. She would finally give him the attention that he deserved ever since that day in the third grade. In a burst of energy, his hand wrapped around her neck, claws digging into her skin. She coughed, breath leaving her.

"Ut pagina mundi," She whispered, the ritual coming to her mind now. The one that required her blood as well as his, both of which now covered the floor. The creature's head turned to the side, confused. His grip tightened and tears sprung to her eyes. Still, she kept going. "qui exterminant revocare vos."

"A banishment spell?" He seemed genuinely impressed. "You won't—"

"Ut pagina mundi—" His hand on her neck began to shake and he hissed in frustration. On the warehouse floor, the blood began to boil, bubbles beginning to form in it. It was grotesquely beautiful, but more importantly, it meant it was working.

"Stop!" He released her and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath and rubbing her neck. She couldn't stop yet though, not when she was so close!

"Qui exterminant revocare vos." Stiles' body began to tremble, almost as if a current was running through him. Her body screamed for her to stay down, but she shakily pushed herself up. Blood dripped from her open wounds. Pitch black eyes locked onto her and before she could react, her dagger was plunged into her chest.

"You want me dead!" It roared as it pressed the weapon in deeper. "Then, we'll die together!"

_If you die, I will literally lose my freakin' mind! _

She was going to disappoint him. She never wanted to do that again.

_Death doesn't happen to you, Lydia. It happens to everyone around you!_

With a shaky hand, she gripped the handle of the dagger and smirked tiredly at the creature.

"Go to Hell."

She watched as it died, as it screamed and was ripped out of Stiles' body by some powerful force. Gracelessly, Stiles' body—finally, he was back—fell onto the floor, unconscious.

He was back.

That was her last thought before the darkness took her.

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__For anyone curious, the Latin translated to roughly, "As your link to this world, I banish those that would use you." Next chapter up soon! Please review if you have a second. Thanks! _


	2. And When I Awoke

_**Author's Note: **__I'm glad people are enjoying this story. Here's the next chapter!_

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><p>"<em>You learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control."<em>

—_Megan Chance_

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><p>Her dreams never have been peaceful, not since she was little. Her first nightmare—she still remembers it even now, after all this time—she found herself walking around in her house, covered in blood. She would cry for help only to find that no one could hear her. So, she just stood there in her living room, white carpet turning crimson. She only dreamed that once. Other nightmares had her running away from something while others still had her sitting alone in a dark void. Don't get her wrong, she's had plenty of happy dreams too, but there's something about the nightmares that just stick with you. They invade your thoughts and whisper malicious words into your ear so that you're barely breathing and every little sound makes you jump.<p>

Oddly enough, when she and Stiles started to get closer—when they started to confide in each other—the nightmares became less and less frightening. Maybe that was because for the first time in her life, she had someone that she could count on, someone who would pick up the phone if she called at midnight. Someone who would see her crying and tell her she looked beautiful anyways.

Someone who loved her—not the façade, but the real Lydia Martin, faults and all.

She can see him through narrowed eyes—Stiles, asleep and recovering, alive. She's smiling at that because he'll be okay. Her mind floats; she feels like she's drifting along a lazy river. What is she doing here? Why does her chest hurt? She fumbles with her hand until she reaches the source of the pain and then with a swift motion pulls out whatever it is that is stuck in her. She breathes finally and drowsiness begins to overtake her.

Why is she here again? Why is Stiles asleep? Well, surely if he is asleep, then all is well and she can rest for a bit. Her eyes fall shut.

Just for a few minutes anyway.

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><p>Stiles opens his eyes and then immediately shuts them.<p>

The pain pooling between forehead makes him wince and with a groan, he forces himself to open his eyes yet again. He can't remember where he is or how he got here. Honestly, for the past couple of weeks, he's felt like he's been underwater unable to comprehend much. He grimaces as a wave of pain courses through him, but he pushes himself up to a sitting position. He curses softly as he lets the dizziness run its course. When the black spots finally clear, he notices the warehouse, a place he's never seen before.

"How did I—?" His voice fades as his gaze comes to rest upon her. Lydia Martin, pale as moonlight save for the crimson puddle that stains her once cream-colored blouse. A knife is in her outstretched hand and flashes of a fight surge through his brain. He had been fighting her? No . . . not him, the hooded figure from before. And Lydia—brave, determined Lydia—had found him and vowed to free him.

_I'm going to pull you back._

A flash of the knife and then it was buried within her. Burning fire surging through him as the monster left and then nothing.

Nothing but the girl he loved bleeding out on the floor.

"Lydia?" His voice is dry, like he hasn't used it for months. Maybe he hasn't; he can't tell anymore. He moves to her, muscles sore, but his brain finally responding to him and him alone. He's at her side and as his hands come to rest on her face, he's shocked at how cold she is.

Like ice. Like death.

"Lydia?" His voice cracks because no, this is not happening. No way in Hell did he come back in exchange for her sacrifice. The universe couldn't be that cruel, not after everything else he had lost. She didn't just give up her life for him; she couldn't have! "Please, Lydia." His vision blurs with tears because he can't find a pulse and there's so much blood everywhere—she must've pulled the knife; why would she do that when she knew it would kill her?—and he has no idea what he can do, how he can fix this. "Lydia!" He shakes her and her head lolls over and it's his worst nightmare come to life because he's failed.

He couldn't keep the girl he loved safe.

"Please," Her face is smeared with his bloody fingerprints and he knows how angry she'll be about that when she wakes up, but he needs her to open her eyes and say something. Call him stupid, say he's annoying—anything. "Wake up, Lydia!" He's openly sobbing now, holding her within his arms, willing for her to be okay.

But she just lies there.

And that's when the door bursts open and Alison and Scott rush in.

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><p>"Stiles?"<p>

In the hallway of the emergency room, Mrs. McCall shoots him a concerned glance and hands him a cup of tea. He numbly takes it. The ride to the hospital was a blur. He remembers Scott and Alison, pulling Lydia from him. Alison starting CPR while Scott called an ambulance. The paramedics and the flash of their ambulance lights. His dad with the cops, talking to Scott and coming up with an official story as to what happened. His father's relieved expression and the too-tight hug, the "I almost lost you" hug that they had somehow perfected in the past couple of months. Alison jumping into the ambulance and Scott promising to follow behind her.

Lydia's heart beating.

"I should've done CPR," He mumbles, taking a shaky sip of his tea. Her blood is crusted onto his nails. It disgusts him to no end but he doesn't want to leave in case he should miss something. "I know how to. I should've—"

"It's okay, Stiles," Her warm hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently and offering her strength. "You've been through a lot." It's an understatement, but he just shakes his head. "You want some food?"

"No."

"You should get some rest." She eyes the bags under his eyes.

"I can't. Not yet." Not until he knows whether Lydia is going to make it or not.

"Stiles—" She's gearing up for a fight when Scott appears in the hallway. He's exhausted, Stiles can tell, but a burden has seemingly been lifted from his shoulders. He passes his mom and beelines for the chair next to his best friend.

"I've got this, Mom." Mrs. McCall nods and then allows herself to leave to check on some other patients. Scott passes him a bag of chips and Stiles opens it. He eats one, but it's flavorless. Still, he has nothing to do and his stomach, to his surprise, is quite hungry. "I . . ." Scott's voice falters. He coughs. "I thought you were gone for good." That stirs something within Stiles. He meets his best friend's gaze.

"I'm sorry, Scott."

"It wasn't you—"

"Even so, I . . ." Mercifully, Scott takes it and the two sit in comfortable silence. "How's Isaac?" He had heard a bit from Derek as he and Scott had arrived, but nothing since.

"Awake and fine." Stiles chuckles bitterly.

"Werewolf healing," He scoffs. "Too bad Lydia can't have banshee healing or something."

"She's going to be okay, Stiles." How many times had his father said that about his mother? How many times had he allowed his hopes to get up before they crashed in flames into the ground?

"I stabbed her, Scott."

"It wasn't you."

"Then," His voice broke. "Why do I have her blood on my hands?" He began to cry. It wasn't fair—in a perfect world, none of them would've deserved any of this. They were a bunch of kids, for crying out loud. Their biggest concerns should be getting a date or finding time to hang out and study. Yet, here they are—waiting to find out yet again if they will lose another member of their pack. Scott wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. It reminded Stiles of when they had been little; his mom had called it a "manly hug". They had stopped when they had gotten older, but even now, it gave him some solace.

"We're a pack, Stiles," Scott whispered. "We're going to pull through this together."

And the clock just ticked on.

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__I love pack bonding. I have a few more chapters in store so I hope you'll stick around. Please review if you have a second! _


	3. Waiting

_**Author's Note: **__Glad you guys are really enjoying this! As I said, this is my first story for this show, so please forgive me if anyone seems too out of character. Enjoy this chapter!_

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><p>"<em>Winds in the east, mist coming in<em>

_Like something is brewing, about to begin. _

_Can't put my finger on what lies in store, _

_But I feel what's to happen all happened before."_

—_Colin Farrell, "Chim Chim Cher-ee (East Wind)"_

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><p>Lydia used to pretend she was a princess once.<p>

She would read herself fairy tales—her parents were always fighting; so loud and scary—and her numerous stuffed animals would be her audience. She'd put on her sparkly, plastic tiara and put her hair in messy pigtails before wrapping a sash around her dress. She'd steal some of her mother's heels and she would parade around her room, waving gracefully to her adoring fans. _What a beautiful princess,_ they'd remark. _How wonderful is she? How blessed are we to see her?_ And Lydia would beam and graciously reply that she was the one truly honored.

Her favorite story was _Sleeping Beauty_—though now she realizes that no, she does not need a prince to come and save her, thank you very much. Still, she'd be lying if she didn't admit that she always got butterflies at that point. The valiant prince would rush to his beloved's side and with a kiss, all would be restored back to the way it was before. _My prince,_ the princess would whisper with a grin, _I dreamt about you._ Then, the prince would take her hand and they'd live happily ever after.

Yes, Lydia Martin used to believe in happily ever after. She used to believe in a love that could be eternal. All that had changed with her parent's divorce though and then there was the whole Jackson experience. To be frank, she hasn't felt that butterfly feeling since middle school.

But with Stiles . . . she knows that it could be something. Maybe not true love, but there is something there. Lydia can sense it deep within her. He's not a prince, but then again, she's no longer a princess. They are just two people—two teens thrust into a battle that they have no business being in. Their relationship is built upon secrets whispered and fleeting touches exchanged. She's saved him just as much as he's saved her.

So, maybe—just maybe—there's a chance that the two of them could forge their own happily ever after.

Lydia likes to believe in that.

* * *

><p>"How is she?" Alison is a wreck, eyes red and puffy, mascara askew. Yet, her voice is even, her tone carefully measured. She regards Stiles with warmth, something that astounds him. How could everyone so easily push past what he had done—to Lydia, to all of them?<p>

"Last thing we heard they were taking her to surgery." Scott manages to reply and the huntress nods her head. Shakily, she sits down on the other side of her former boyfriend. He offers a hand and she gratefully takes it. There's nothing romantic about it—just an offering of strength; something that Alison needs if she's going to make it through another vigil. "Isaac?"

"They discharged him." She runs a hand through her messy air, fingers getting stuck in a few knots. "He's perfectly healed." She laughs bitterly and then pulls her knees up onto the chair. With her free hand, she wraps an arm around them. "He's getting food." She's breaking—anyone with eyes can see that—and suddenly, Stiles is out of the chair and in front of her. "Stiles—?"

"Hit me." He orders and her expression alights with confusion.

"Stiles, what—?" Scott tries to interject, but Stiles holds up a hand for silence.

"Hit me, Alison." She shakes her head and looks away. "No, I deserve it, okay? I mean, c'mon, it was me that choked Isaac and me that stabbed Lydia, and fuck, she might die and I'm to blame—" The air is getting incredibly thin and his mind is racing a mile a minute, the words spilling out faster than he can process them, but he has to be punished for this—he needs to be punished—and since he knows Scott won't do something, maybe Alison—?

The slap is unexpected and it echoes through the hall. He meets her gaze, shocked. He places a hand to his stinging cheek.

"Stop." Alison hisses, voice deadly and utterly malicious.

"Alison—" Scott's gaze alternates between the two of them, but it's obvious that he won't be allowed to interfere.

"Stop blaming yourself." She growls, stepping into his space. "We all know you were possessed, okay? We all knew what could happen. Just like Lydia knew the risks." Her voice twinges with grief. "But she made a choice, okay? And her choice brought you back. And right now," She lowers her voice, down to almost a whisper. "You're disrespecting her choice."

"She could be dying because of me!" Stiles protests.

"Not because of you!" Alison roars. "Because of the monster that had control over you and let me tell you something, Stiles." Scott's expression grows increasingly wary as Alison's face is now only mere inches apart from Stiles'. "Lydia would die for you, just like I know that if someone walked in here and said that in exchange for your life Lydia could live, you would take that deal." A lone tear snakes its way down the huntress' cheek. "So, here's what's going to happen, okay? You are going to let go of whatever it is you blame yourself for because it wasn't your fault." He glances away. "It wasn't your fault, Stiles. Say it with me."

"It wasn't . . ." His voice falters.

"Stiles." She snaps.

"It wasn't my fault." Deep down, he knows that, he really does, but there's her blood crusted onto his fingers. There's the picture of her face and the way it twisted up with agony as his hand pushed to the knife into her. How could none of that be his fault?

"No, Stiles," She whispers. "It wasn't."

And then she pulls him into a hug.

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><p>"You doing okay?" Stiles nods his head as Isaac awkwardly attempts to cover up a sleeping Alison with his coat while not waking her up. Scott's asleep as well. Dimly, he wonders how long it's been since his best friend has gotten a decent night's rest. And Alison, who he remembers was suffering from visions of her dead aunt, how long had it been for her? "I . . . um, got some food."<p>

"Thanks." He whispers as Isaac hands him a tin foil wrapped burger. The smell stirs hunger up within his stomach and mechanically, Stiles begins to eat. He glances sideways at the werewolf. Only a small, red mark remained around his neck, barely noticeable. Yet, Stiles could see the faint outline and knew what it was—his hand—and it sickened him to no end.

"Stiles?" He snaps out of it and meet's the werewolf's gaze. "You can get some sleep if you want. I've got watch." Indeed, one of them it seems has been awake ever since they had gotten here almost six hours ago, just in case news about Lydia should emerge.

"Are we okay?" Isaac's eyebrows rise.

"You and me?" He clarifies. Then, gesturing to his neck, "Over what? This?"

"Yes."

"We're good, Stiles." Isaac grins. "Truth be told, I'm just glad you're back."

"The whole 'me almost killing you thing' really doesn't bother you?" He asks in disbelief. The werewolf huffs a laugh.

"You couldn't strangle me even if you wanted to, Stiles. Now, you powered up by some evil supernatural demon and augmenting your strength?" He tilts his head to the side and grins. "Honestly, that's the guy I'm pissed at." He smiles softly. "But, hey, that's not you, is it?"

_I'm going to pull you back._

Lydia meant that. She knew it wasn't him hurting her. She knew. She forgave him; he could see it in his mind's eye. Lydia knew and she went to save him even though the risks were great. She had brought him back.

She had saved him more than he ever could've realized.

* * *

><p>"Family of Lydia Martin?" Instantly, Stiles is up. The doctor—older man in a rumpled trench coat meets his gaze—and Stiles knows that look the medical professional is giving him; has seen it in this same hospital so many years ago. The doctor calmly walks over to him and Stiles can feel Alison's hand coming to rest on his shoulder, can sense Scott's presence behind him. He's not alone in this, not like last time. He's got people here to help him.<p>

"How is she?" It astounds him that he's even able to get the sentence out, his words all tumbling over each other. The doctor clears his throat and Stiles holds his breath.

And that's when the doctor tells them of the blood loss, of the punctured lung, of how slim her chances for recovery are and how it's a miracle that she's even still alive now. Stiles can hear the truth behind the sugarcoated words though—Lydia probably wouldn't make it through the night.

She's dying.

When Stiles trusts his voice not to break, he forces his gaze to meet the doctor's.

"Can we see her?"

"Of course." He leads them through a maze of hallways and then finally, to a small room in the back. "It's best if you go one at a time." Stiles nods his head and then enters the room. She's beautiful, even like this. Her hair fans out behind her and if the lights were off, he could almost pretend that she just fell asleep after a long night of researching. She'll wake up any second now and she'll toss a pillow at him and laugh and accuse him of being a creep. Then, he'll beam and admit the feelings that he's felt since that day in the third grade.

He loves her.

But . . . she's not just sleeping. There's been no research.

She's dying, or so the doctors think. A lost cause, that's what they call her in their medical jargon. He hesitates before picking up her hand—it's so cool to the touch; she needs some more blankets—and he lets his mind be set at ease with the steady rhythm of the heart monitor.

"Lydia," He presses his lips to her knuckles and it's cheesy, but he doesn't know what to do anymore. She's leaving him, going somewhere he can't follow. He won't accept this—can't accept this. Lydia Martin can't die, not like this. "You fight, okay?" She survived rogue werewolves and becoming a banshee. This isn't how her story is supposed to end; he knows it. A girl like her, she deserves her happily ever after.

"Please, Lydia."

And the princess just sleeps on.

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><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__It's going to get worse before it gets better, but don't panic, okay? I'm a sucker for happy endings. Please review if you have a second! Thanks. _


	4. Figure It Out

_**Author's Note: **__Can I just say that I really love this fandom? You guys have been so nice! Thanks so much! Here's the next chapter._

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><p>"<em>It's not supposed to hurt this way,<em>

_I need you, I need you, I need you,_

_Tell me, are you and me still together?_

_Tell me, do you think we could last forever?_

_Tell me, why?"_

—_Avril Lavigne, "Why"_

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><p>She's sitting in her room, idly playing with a lose thread on her comforter. The window is open; a summer breeze ruffles her hair. She's wearing a pale blue dress that hugs her figure in all the right places and for the first time in a long time, Lydia feels at peace. There's no monster to fight or research to do. There's no worrying over losing another friend. There's just her and the breeze and the warmth of the sun kissing her skin.<p>

So, if everything is so perfect, why does she feel like she's forgetting something important? It's on the tip of her tongue; a picture tucked away in the recesses of her mind, out of her reach. What has she been doing? How did she get home? Where is her mom?

A knock on the door spurs her into action and she opens it. Alison stands before her. In a shriek of excitement, the two girls embrace, joy coursing through their veins. Lydia can't figure out why she feels this way, why there is relief mixed upon the joy. Surely, she's seen Alison recently? Hasn't she?

"What are you doing?" Alison asks her as the two settle on her bed. Perplexed, Lydia tilts her head ever so slightly to the side. Her best friend sighs softly before rising from the bed and pulling open Lydia's closest door. She rummages around for a bit before pulling out a yellow dress; the color of sunshine and the huntress holds it out for the other girl to see. "I think this one is nice."

"Yeah, I mean, it's okay—"

"Okay?" Alison echoes incredulously. "Look at the way it sparkles in the light. This one is perfect!"

"Why the sudden interest in my dresses?" Lydia ventures, taking the hanger from her friend's outstretched hand. That makes the other girl freeze in her tracks. "What?"

"Don't tell me you forgot." Alison nearly hisses, turning around, eyes wide. At Lydia's silence, the other girl sighs drawn out. "Your date?" Still nothing. "With Stiles?" At that, she perks up.

"My date with Stiles?" She mumbles, wondering why she can't remember this important plan. Had Stiles asked her out and she said yes? She must've if Alison was here and so excited. Still, the memory isn't there and that's odd, to say the least. Regardless, she's happy all the same. She likes—loves?—Stiles more than she lets on and she's pleased with this new development.

"You do remember, right?" Alison presses and Lydia nods quickly, lying. Details didn't matter, not if she was getting the date she wanted.

"Of course." Alison beams, her expression bright. It's been such a long time since they've been able to focus on something so mundane like this. There's no worry hanging over them, no fear of impending doom, no monsters to defeat, no loved one to mourn. No, for once, there is just this one normal dilemma—picking the perfect dress for a first date—and Lydia grins. How long has it been since they've had fun like this? How long has it been since she had Alison over and the two of them didn't have a conversation about werewolves or hunters?

"So, yellow dress?" Her friend questions and Lydia shakes her head, relishing the chance to finally obsess over her fashion choices again. Disappointed, Alison pouts. "Why not?" With a devilish smirk, Lydia rises from her bed and saunters over to her closet.

"I think I've got something better."

She is going to blow Stiles away tonight.

* * *

><p>"Stiles?"<p>

He blinks awake to see Mrs. McCall standing in the doorframe. Her expression is guarded but in her eyes, he can see the mixture of sorrow and pain swirling in them. He glances at Lydia—still asleep, still pale—and the grief crashes through him once more. Slowly, she's being pulled away from his and no matter how strong his grip is around her wrist, nothing will change. She'll still be pulled away and he'll be here.

Alone. Again.

"Lydia?" She takes a breath in and he watches it, eternally grateful for this small miracle. She's still here—still fighting—and that gives him hope. He smiles softly at her, squeezing her hand within his own. Then, to Melissa, he tells her, "She's strong, you know."

"I know." Mrs. McCall replies, shoes squeezing ever so slightly as she walks into the dimly lit room. "Stiles, you need to go home and eat something. Not to mention, sleep. And your father—"

"I can't leave her here, not when she could . . ." His voice fades away as he doesn't want to voice the horrifying possibility that she could die. She could pass away without anyone by her side, without a reason to hold on to and fight for. No, he couldn't leave her—he wouldn't leave her, consequences be damned. "I'm not going anywhere." Mrs. McCall doesn't reply; simply comes to stand by him and places a hand on her back, rubbing a comforting pattern on his back. Her presence soothes to rough edges of fear and panic that want to engulf him. She knows him, almost as well Scott and sometimes better than his own father. She trusts his judgment and that's why he knows she won't force him to leave Lydia's bedside. She won't spout nonsense about visiting hours; she won't play the tough love card or try to trick him into leaving.

She'll just stand here and offer silent strength.

"Okay," Melissa murmurs. "Okay."

And for this one moment, it's enough.

* * *

><p>"Alison?"<p>

"Hmmm?" She finishes the last few touches of her makeup, glancing in the mirror. Grinning at her peach lips and her tastefully done makeup, Lydia turns, the pink ruffled gown brushing against her fingertips. Her hair, gracefully curled, tickles her shoulders. She feels confident—the first time in a long time—and she's content. Her best friend beams and rises from her seat on the bed. Placing an arm around her shoulder, Alison's lips twitch upwards in happiness. "Ah, Lydia, you look beautiful."

_Well, I think you look beautiful._

Her cheeks flush, thinking of that dance, of that moment that seems so long ago, yet is actually not at all. She's changed since then—no longer blissfully ignorant in the ways of the supernatural world, but also now a person who cared about other, who let down her walls to see the real Lydia Martin, faults and all. Stiles saw her though, even back then.

Stiles always could see her.

"You like everything?" Lydia asks, desperately needing confirmation. It's been almost an eternity since she's gone out on a date—a real and proper date, not just a random flirtation. She doesn't want to screw this up.

"The dress is perfect, as is everything else." Alison assures her. Then, laughing, she adds, "Look at your cheeks! They're bright red!" Then, smirking and winking, she gently ribs Lydia in the side. "I always knew you and Stiles were going to be a couple—"

"You did not!" Lydia replies, drawn out and teasingly.

"And now here you are," She plows on, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "Getting ready to go out on your first official date."

"You sound like a proud mother!" Lydia exclaims, laughing.

"I feel like it!" Alison remarks. "I mean, I was there and I watched everything change. Now, here we are."

"Here we are." She whispers, bittersweet. Here she is, about to allow herself to become a normal teenager. Here she is, about to go out with a boy she cares for so much that it still scares her. She could be hurt—more deeply and profoundly than anything else she's faced before—and she's going to let someone see the scars that she's never let anyone seen before.

It's almost as if she's handing him a knife and—

_The dagger being thrust into her chest. The unbearable burning and pain and the coolness of the blood pouring down her shirt, seemingly endless. The dark eyes, the malicious smile and the fact it was Stiles, who was doing this to her. No, wait, not Stiles but—_

Her head pounds and she gasps a bit as the image—memory?—fades away from view. Slowly, her room comes back into view, like changing the channel on a television. She sways, vision blurring and Alison steadies her.

"Lydia!" Her best friend's voice is by her ear and why can't Lydia stand on her own knees? Why does she feel so weak all of a sudden? "Are you okay?"

"I . . ." Her heart pounds a mile a minute, but how can that be when she was just stabbed? She should be dead . . . shouldn't she? What is she getting ready for? "I think so?"

"You're pale," Alison chides softly. "Sit down." She eases her to the bed and Lydia nods her thanks, still trying to get a grip on her nerves. Alison kneels down to be in her field of view and her concerned gaze comes to rest on hers. "How do you feel?"

"Just a bit dizzy." Lydia confesses.

"You should eat something." Alison rises, clearly in the zone of a trained hunter. "I'll be right back. You just rest, okay?" She's gone, leaving Lydia on the edge of her bed. What did she see and what did it mean? What is she forgetting because she's sure she's missing something; something she can't quite place her finger on.

She's going to get to the bottom of this.

"Figure it out."

_A forest so far away. A trap around her leg and Stiles, frantically trying to save her. Figure it out, she had told him. Figure it out! _

She can do this.

Lydia Martin isn't a quitter, after all.

* * *

><p>"She's burning up." Melissa mumbles as she places a palm against her cheek. The mother figure of the pack grimaces and then pulls out thermometer from her scrub pocket. Placing the protective cover over it, she sticks it in Lydia's ear and after a few moments, it beeps. Glancing at the monitor, she shakes her head at the number. "103."<p>

"You can give her medicine, right?" Stiles presses because it's a fever and yeah, people can die of them technically, but that was in the old days when medicine sucked and doctors thought the way to heal people was to do stupid things.

"The doctor can, yes."

"But?" He can sense that there is one from the way her gaze is downcast.

"A fever is one of the hallmark signs of an infection after surgery." His eyes widen because infections after surgery are notoriously hard to get rid of and they took a toll on an already fragile person.

_You're one of the smartest people I know, Stiles. You don't need instructions. Figure it out. _

"What can I do?" Because there has to be something and he won't just sit by and throw in the towel just because of what the doctors say. He'll keep her safe and he'll lend her his strength for as long as he needs to.

"There's a bowl and a cloth under the sink over there." Melissa points and Stiles is already up. "Fill it up with cool water—not cold—and then start placing the cloth on her forehead and then her cheeks." The nurse moves to the doorway. "I'll be back with a doctor." Her steps echo through the hall and Stiles quickly fulfills her instructions. Coming back to rest at Lydia's side, he begins to gently apply the cloth.

"I'm going to figure this out, okay?" He whispers to her. "Besides, we're a team, right? I can't help the pack without you, you know that right?" The cloth warms too quickly and he dunks it back into the bowl. He wrings it out and then lays it on her forehead. A few drips trickle down her flamed cheeks, like tears. "Just . . . hang in there."

He's in this for the long haul; he's known that ever since he laid eyes on her in third grade. He's not going to give up this fight. He's not going to give up on her. No matter what it takes, he will fight for every extra minute he gets to spend with her and the Grim Reaper himself will have to go through him to get to her.

"Hang in there."

And the cloth burns up once again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__Next chapter, more of the pack! And of course, more Stiles and Lydia. Please review if you have a second. Thanks! _


	5. Pieces

_**Author's Note: **__Just a reminder that this is set in a slightly alternate universe season 3B. Thanks for all the kind words! I'm glad you guys are enjoying it._

* * *

><p>"<em>What's wrong with my tongue?<em>

_These words keep slipping away,_

_I stutter, I stumble,_

_Like I've got nothing to say."_

—_Avril Lavigne, "These Things I'll Never Say"_

* * *

><p>"You sure you're okay?" Alison questions softly as she hands Lydia a cool glass of water. Shakily, she takes a slow sip, trying to regain her nerves. "Lydia?"<p>

"I feel like . . ." Her voice fades. How can she explain this feeling; this curious sensation that something is wrong even though she can't recall the reason? There's no monster to fight nor is anyone hurt. Everything should be fine, yet there's this lingering fear tickling the back of her brain. "Alison, something's wrong."

"With you?" The huntress asks quickly, expression filling with concern. Her hand wraps around Lydia's, offering her strength and companionship. "Maybe we should call your mom—"

"No," Lydia dismisses, shaking her head. She sighs, her head pounding. She presses a cool hand to her burning head and tries to get a handle on whatever is going on with her. "I saw something."

"Saw something?" Her best friend echoes, brows knitting up in confusion. "What do you mean—?"

"I saw Stiles stab me."

A beat; an exhale of a shaky breath.

"What?"

"I can't explain it," The teen genius mumbles, rising from the bed and beginning to pace, her heels sinking into the carpet. "But something's wrong, Alison." She gestures to the room, to the window with the beautiful sunshine and green grass. With the summer breeze entering the room and flowers swaying in the wind, she knows something is off. It's too perfect, too pristine.

This isn't her world.

"Wrong?" Alison frowns, perplexed. "Lydia, are you sure you're feeling all right?" She walks over there and places a hand on her forehead. She grimaces. "Do you have a fever? You feel warm."

"Alison, you're not listening—" Alison just smiles tiredly at her and then pats her shoulder.

"I heard you," She replies. "It's just . . . we've all been under a lot of stress lately and you're nervous about this date—"

"You don't believe me!" Lydia exclaims, disbelieving. This is impossible. Alison has always believed her before, even when she was going crazy with her newfound powers and Peter's influence. This is wrong.

This isn't her world.

It can't be.

"Just sit down," Alison soothes. "I'm going to go downstairs and get you some medicine." With a small grin, she exits the room, leaving a bewildered Lydia in her wake.

"This can't be right."

_Her eyes blinking open to see Stiles on the warehouse floor, breathing and alive. A knife is in her hand and the blood is pooling around her, yet she smiled. He's safe. She's freed him._

With a shudder she opens her eyes only to find herself standing in her living room, sunset's rays coloring the room.

"Wait, what?" The doorbell rings and she finds herself moving towards the front door to open it. She pulls back the door and finds Stiles, standing there with a bouquet of roses.

"Hey." He greets with an easy smile and suddenly, her fears dissipate. Stiles would believe her—he always believed her—and together they could figure it out. They would get to the bottom of this world where Alison acted strange and her mother is nowhere to be seen and time passes in the snap of a finger.

"Stiles." She wraps her arms around him, feeling him stiffen for a few seconds under her before finally returning her embrace.

"H-hey," He stutters. "You okay?"

"I'm just glad you're here." She pulls back, beaming. Then, her expression sobers. "Something is wrong. Alison is acting weird and I keep seeing things—"

"Hey, hey," He soothes, entering and shutting the door behind him before placing the bouquet on the wooden coffee table. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."

"Right." She nods, more confident.

There was nothing they couldn't do if they were together.

"Now," Stiles starts and she notices the nice outfit he wears—the button down white shirt and the dark jeans—and she's feels slightly giddy. Maybe they would be going out somewhere nice tonight. "Tell me what's going on."

And that's when she begins to speak.

She never notices the way Stiles' eyes flash black occasionally whenever her gaze would drop his.

* * *

><p>"Stiles."<p>

"Hey, Dad." His voice is sandpaper and parched like a desert. His eyes feel like they have sand in them because of lack of sleep, but he refuses to let go of her. He won't leave her side. The Sheriff walks in, boots echoing in the room. He pulls up a chair and the two of them sit like for what seems like an eternity, the steady beeping of Lydia's heart monitor filling the silence. She's stirred a few times since the fever came on and even opened her eyes for a few minutes, but there was no recognition in those orbs he adored. She had fallen back to sleep immediately when the doctor gave her some fever reducing medicine.

"Stiles?" His father sounds so grateful, so relieved that his son has been returned to him. "Let's go."

"I can't." His father's gaze locks onto his.

"You need to," The Sheriff interjects quietly, but forceful. "Melissa says you've been here for eight hour straight, barely sleeping and not eating." Stiles blinks rapidly, trying to clear his fuzzy vision, trying to disprove this.

"I can't leave her," His voice breaks again and damn, he doesn't want to cry, not again, not in front of his dad. He wants to be strong for Lydia. He wants to pull her back, like she had done the same for him and he couldn't do that if he kept crying like this. "Cause if I leave her, she might—"

"She's strong, Stiles." His father informs him, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "And she wouldn't want you to do this to yourself."

"But if I leave—"

"Alison is outside." As if on cue, a much more put together Alison enters the room in a fresh change of clothes and with her face somewhat refreshed. She's slept, though not very easily.

"I'll look after her." It's a promise coming from Lydia's best friend. Stiles nods slowly; he understands she'll do her best, but he should still be here—

"C'mon, Stiles," His father whispers. "Let's go home, just for a few hours." He rises from the chair, slowly and he doesn't let go of her wrist until his father gently tugs on him. They shuffle out of the room, his father leading him and it's not until they get into the elevator and the doors shut does he let his gaze drop from her.

He'll be back, rested and ready.

He'll save her.

That's a promise.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Please review if you have a second! _


	6. Sacrifice

_**Author's Note: **__Sorry for the delay between chapters. I've been super busy! Please enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

><p>"<em>Tally up those points for me<em>

_We're settling the score."_

—_Sleeping With Sirens, "Tally It Up, Settle the Score"_

* * *

><p>"How are you?" His father asks him as he sets a plate of pasta down before him. Stiles doesn't really want to eat, but he picks up the spoon and forces himself to take a bite. His body is shutting down—he can feel it; the way his mind is foggy and his eyes are drooping shut—and he needs to go to bed. It's not what he wants. If he had the choice, he would still be at the hospital with Lydia. But, Alison is there now and he has to trust that she'll call if anything changes.<p>

"I'm fine." His tone is empty, devoid of any and all emotion.

"Stiles," There's a softness to the sheriff's tone, a vulnerability that he so rarely shows to anyone. In fact, it's been years since Stiles heard that particular tone. It conjures up memories of his mother hooked up to machines, of her icy hand in his and _Mommy's gone, Stiles_. It causes his son to glance up and meet his eyes. "I saw the blood on your shirt—"

"Just a few minor cuts, Dad—"

"I want to see them." And there it is, the demanding, strong voice. The voice that made even Scott occasionally stutter even though he knew his dad almost as well as Stiles did. Reluctantly, he holds out his arms and with tenderness, his father rolls up his sleeves. His eyes inspect each and every cut thoroughly before he curtly nods his head and gets up from the table. He returns a few minutes later with some antiseptic and bandages. As he begins to clean the cuts, Stiles tries not to hiss at the burning from the antiseptic.

"I'm . . ." His father swallows deeply. Stiles waits. "I'm glad you're back."

They sit there in comfortable silence, finally connecting again after such a huge ordeal. Who knew what a toll Stiles' possession took on his father? It must've been hard and horrible, judging from the dark bags under the sheriff's eyes. Yet, they managed to push past it and here they were.

"I missed you." His father beams, warm and open.

"Me too, son."

Together again.

* * *

><p>"Alison," The huntress immediately whips her head around to the door. Mrs. McCall regards her curiously and internally, Alison chides herself for being so on edge. Not that they haven't been attacked in a hospital before—they had, plenty of times—but with Stiles back to normal there was nothing currently trying to kill them. "You okay?"<p>

"Yeah, sorry." She mumbles. Footsteps echo in the room as Scott's mother comes to lay a land on Lydia's cheek. "Better?" Melissa rewards her with a small grin.

"Yes," She replies. "It's clearly gone down. Maybe we caught the infection just in time." Lydia's best friend allows the tiniest bit of hope to surge within her veins. They need a break and honestly, the universe owes them one. They were teenagers, after all. This shouldn't be their life right now! So, yes, Alison will allow herself to be cautiously optimistic with this bit of news because what else can she do? She won't just sit here and wait for her best friend to die. She'll believe that Lydia will make it because if she doesn't, Alison feels like she just might die of grief.

"You think she'll recover from this?"

"I have faith she will." Melissa answers quietly, though she knows with her years of medical training that the odds are against the teenager. She was stabbed, lost a lot of blood and was battling an infection. While Lydia was young and strong, all of those things combined made recovery for anyone extremely difficult.

"She's strong." Alison mumbles and Melissa nods her head. Yes, she's heard about Lydia's strength from Scott and Stiles on multiple occasions and now hearing that Lydia single handedly got rid of the monster possessing Stiles? That just reinforced her son's stories.

"My shift is over," Alison notices the purse slung around Melissa's shoulders. How long had they been here? It felt like only moments since she and Scott had burst into the warehouse and found Stiles holding Lydia's broken body. "And I need to go check in with Scott. You going to be okay?" A hand gripped her shoulder, offering her comfort and support wrapped up in love. Mrs. McCall had become their surrogate mother, even before she found out their secrets. Now, Alison appreciates it even more. It feels nice to lean on someone else for a change, someone who knows more than them, an actual adult who could actually take charge or at least attempt to.

"I'll stay with her." A soft voice speaks up and Isaac enters the room, a sheepish grin on his lips as Mrs. McCall pulls him into a hug.

"I'm glad you're doing better." The mother of their pack tells him, releasing him from her tight grip. "Well, I'm just a phone call away, if you two need anything."

"Okay, sounds good." Isaac replies quietly as he pulls up a chair beside Alison. Melissa nods her footsteps echo down the hall as they fade away. The werewolf regards Lydia with a grimace. She's so still on the bed, so pale and cold. He instinctively reaches for her hand and holds it within his own, hoping to transfer some of his heat to her. "I didn't know it was this bad."

"When Scott and I found them, it was worse." Alison mutters, blinking rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to consume her. She won't cry again. She needs to be strong and she cannot cry—

"Here." Isaac offers his arm and she leans into it. He's warm and soft and in his grasp, she lets the tears fall. "We're going to get through this." He rubs her shoulder with his hand in a soothing motion and Alison nods, willing his words to be true.

"We'll be fine." She whispers brokenly as she burrows into his shoulder, relishing the feel of him.

"We will be."

It's a promise.

* * *

><p>"She got the spell from you, didn't she." It's not even a question and Deaton sighs softly, before placing the bowl of food down in the dog's kennel. Derek steps out of the shadows—something he seems to have mastered through the years—and the veterinarian nods his head in greeting.<p>

"I told her there were risks." He doesn't bother to deny it, for what would the point be? "Yet, she was adamant about it." He remembers the feisty girl storming in and demanding a cure to free Stiles. She'd give anything, she told him with tears in her eyes. Teenagers, always so willing to sacrifice themselves. Still, out of all of them, she was the only one who had a remote chance to save Stiles.

"Why?" Derek growls, almost wolf like and Deaton smirks. Does he really think that that would intimidate him? He's seen more things than Derek could ever imagine. He knows more about the supernatural realm than anyone in this town. Who was he to deny Lydia a bit of that knowledge?

"She wanted to save him." The veterinarian replies calmly, picking up a pile of paperwork and placing it by his desk. He would need to fill out those forms later. "The banishment spell was a simple solution—" Derek slams his palms on the metal examination table, causing the dogs to bark and Deaton to flinch.

"Why her?" He demands. "Scott or I—"

"She's Stiles's emotional tether," He answers. "Because of that, the spell's effectiveness was strong enough to pull the nogistune from him." He frowns slightly and lets his gaze fall downwards. "I had no idea that it would manage to get the last blow in though. If I had known—"

But when he looks back up, Derek is already gone.

"Typical." He mutters bitterly before heading to his desk.

Some things never change.

* * *

><p>"So," Stiles begins, face scrunched up in that adorably confused expression that she adores. "You're seeing images of the past?" Lydia nods. "Okay. And—this is the part that I'm not getting—it's me stabbing you?" She comes to sit next to him on the couch, nodding her head once more. "And Alison doesn't believe you?"<p>

"She thinks its stress." She supplies.

"But you think . . . what again?" She takes a deep breath and tries to explain it in the simplest terms possible.

"I think that this," She gestures to the sunset adorned living room, to the bird chirping their last notes of the day all in harmony. "Isn't real."

"So, what then?" He challenges, still trying to grasp this. "This is an illusion of your mind?"

"Maybe," She whispers, leaning forward onto her arms so that she can rub her temples. "I don't know. Something's wrong though!" She presses a cool hand to her forehead and tries to calm her racing heart. "I just . . . maybe I'm going crazy!" She throws her hands up in defeat and immediately he pulls her to him, so that her head rests against his chest and she can hear his steady heartbeat in her ears. It anchors her.

"You're not going crazy." He assures her.

"You don't know that!" She snaps.

"I know you though," He whispers and she stiffens, because yes, if anyone knows her, it's him. He's seen through her façade and the walls around her heart to crumble. He's the person that made herself the better person she is today. "And I know you're not crazy."

"I just . . ." She sighs and his grip on her increases ever so slightly. She chuckles bitterly. "Great first date, am I right?" He laughs at that and it reverberates through his frame.

"First dates are overrated anyways." He replies easily and she wants to let this go. She wants to relax with him and pretend like nothing is going on. Why can't she just ignore this one weird thing for the sake of her mental sanity? Why couldn't she ever just allow herself to relax?

"Stiles?"

"Hmmmm?" She snakes a hand to grab his free one and holds it within her own.

"Thank you."

He just squeezes her hand a fraction tighter.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__Hopefully this chapter was a bit more upbeat than my other ones. Just remember there will be a happy ending, even if it doesn't seem like it at the moment. Sound good? Please review if you have a second! Thanks. _


	7. Devil

_**Author's Note: **__Hi again! So, after watching the latest episode, I will now officially call this story slightly AU as my version of events will clearly be different from what actually happens. Thanks for all the kind words! Glad that you're enjoying the story just as much as I like writing it!_

* * *

><p>"<em>I was living in a devil town<em>

_Didn't know it was a devil town_

_Oh Lord, it really brings me down _

_About the devil town, about the devil town."_

—_Tony Lucca, "Devil Town"_

* * *

><p>"You need to sleep." Kira comments softly as she takes a small bite of her sandwich. Scott's lies before him on the plate, untouched. He's in shock; he's pretty sure, as the adrenaline of everything that had occurred today was finally wearing off. Weariness and fatigue settle into his veins and he blinks, his eyes suddenly feeling like they are full of sand. The young woman across from him notices this and with a tight frown, gracefully rises from her chair. She comes to his hide and manages to grasp his hand within hers, holding it tightly. "Scott, it's okay."<p>

"It is?" Stiles is back, but at what cost? Never, in all his wildest imaginations, had the teen werewolf thought of this scenario. His best friend is alive and back in control, but Lydia . . .

"Hey." Kira nudges him gently, a smile alighting on her ruby lips. Her presence is soothing and just having this little bit of intimacy between them calms his racing nerves. Lydia is his friend—the two of them had grown closer ever since her whole incident with Peter—and he considers her part of his pack. She's smart; who knows how many problems she's solved for him, but there's so much more to her than that. She's funny, romantic—he's caught her watching _The Notebook_ more than once after a particularly stressfully weekend—as well as fiercely protective of her friends. She's stood up to creatures that could kill her with a simple shove and she's saved his life, not to mention Stiles' during that incident at the motel. She hadn't hesitated then and laid her life on the line for them so Scott wouldn't give up on her now.

She would pull through.

She had to.

"Thanks." He manages to get out through the lump of emotion around his throat as she takes the sandwich and places it on the nearby counter. She regards him carefully, like one might regard a home repair project. Then, before he can ask her what she's thinking, she's helping him out of the chair and leading him down the hall. She stops outside his bedroom door and pushes it open.

"Get some rest." She orders softly. "I'll wait up for your mom. If I hear anything about Lydia, I'll let you know."

"You don't have to." He halfheartedly protests because she must be tired too and though she hadn't had the opportunity to get to know Lydia like everyone else, she still must be a little bit shaken by the day's events. "Kira, I can—"

"You can get some sleep before you pass out," She interjects quietly. "I'm happy to finally be helpful." Something sparks in her eyes and he relents. She presses a kiss to his cheek before finally nudging him towards the door. She waits until he lies on his bed before turning and heading back to the kitchen. The teen stares up at his ceiling and tries to think of nothing.

Images of a bloody Stiles holding Lydia's ashen body fills his mind.

"No." He screws his eyes shut and wills them away. Lydia would recover. She would get better. "She will."

He had to believe in that because if he lost another person close to him, Scott knew he would break.

* * *

><p>"Melissa."<p>

"Chris." She greets tiredly as she steps off the elevator and into the parking lot. Her keys jingle in her hand as she moves towards the experienced hunter. "Alison is with Lydia." He nods, then opens his mouth to say something before thinking better of it and shutting it. "Everything okay?" That's a stupid question, she thinks, considering that they were on the verge of losing someone once again. How had Scott managed to deal with this before so long?

"The nogitsune," He starts and Melissa freezes, wishing that she never had to hear that name again. The monster wearing Stiles' face brought nothing but chills up her spine. "From what I understand, Lydia was able to use a spell to banish him."

"Yes," Melissa nods her assent, overhearing that bit from Alison. "That's what I gathered." At that, the hunter shook his head and shifted his weight from side to side, almost nervous. "Chris, what is it?"

"The thing is," Alison's father starts, locking onto her gaze. "You can't banish a nogitsune. Not completely, that is." Melissa's stomach drops; her fists clench up.

"She is Stiles' emotional tether—" She wants to scream out, but it simply passes through her lips as a mere whisper.

"Which made the spell work," Chris works out. "But the spirit of the nogitsune would've . . ." His voice trails off as he finishes his train of thought in his mind. The mother stiffens because she knows what he's going to say, but desperately does not want to hear it.

"Chris." That snaps him out of it. His head snaps to attention and slowly, he drags his eyes to hers. Melissa feels her chest tighten; she can barely breathe.

"I think the nogitsune intends to kill Lydia along with itself."

And the world that Melissa McCall knew shatters around her once more.

* * *

><p>He remembers the dance.<p>

He remembers the way her arms felt she wrapped them around him. He remembers the way his heart skipped a beat when she smiled at him after he complimented her. He remembers the exact shade of eye shadow she wore because it brought out her eyes even more than usual. He remembers how her strawberry blonde hair curled ever so slightly and whenever she moved, it reminded him of ocean waves.

He remembers the desperation that coursed through his veins when he saw her collapse onto that field, her crimson blood mixing with the dirt beneath her. He remembers begging for her life and forfeiting his own. He remembers waiting at the hospital and the relief that came when he saw she was okay.

_I'm going to bring you back._

The picture shifts from the dance and into a dark warehouse. He remembers the knife sliding into her petite form and the expression of pain twisting up her beautiful face. He remembers waking up and seeing her not breathing—

He gasps as his eyes fly open.

In the darkness of his room, he tries to control his pounding heart and shallow breaths. He sits up slowly and tries to find some sense of inner calm. The digital clock on his nightstand informs him that it's almost six am; he's been asleep for almost ten hours and yet, he still feels exhausted.

"Stiles?" His father stands in the doorway, a haggard expression on his face. He's been up for awhile and his cellphone is clutched in his left hand. "You okay?"

"What's wrong with her?" He can sense it, deep within himself. Maybe it's due to his bond with Lydia; maybe not, but he knows that expression on his father. It's an expression that has led to nothing good so far. His father hesitates. "Dad—" The sheriff sighs before coming to stand at the edge of the bed.

"This isn't your fault." He prefaces.

"Just tell me!" He snaps. Then, softly. "Please."

"Alison's dad thinks the nogitsune is in Lydia's mind." That bites like a bullet. "And that, it intends to kill her and itself."

At that moment, Stiles is pretty sure that his heart stops beating.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__Next chapter, more action and more Lydia! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


	8. Plans

_**Author's Note: **__Sorry for the delay. I was waiting to see how the show would play out. This is an "everybody lives" AU story now. I hope you enjoy reading!_

* * *

><p>"<em>They say bad things happen for a reason<em>

_But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding."_

—_The Script, "Breakeven"_

* * *

><p>"How do you feel now?" Lydia sighs, pulling absently at a strand of her hair, all thoughts of saving her perfect hairstyle out the window. She had wanted to get dressed up for Stiles, but in light of recent discoveries, she knows that a first date wasn't exactly in the cards for them. And while she would've loved to go all out tonight on her makeup and her outfit, she knows Stiles wouldn't mind if she did or not. He loves her for who she is, flaws and all. He's seen her at her absolute mess—crying, make up smearing as she laid her head against the steering wheel—and he still thought she looked beautiful.<p>

"Better." She murmurs, as he offers his hand hesitantly and she takes it. His strength keeps her grounded and prevents her from thinking about whether she's gone crazy again. Could this be a trick from Peter? That wouldn't make much sense since he was supposed to be their ally, but—

_Stiles' face twisted up in a grotesque parody of a grin. The knife as he pressed it into her body. The blood covering the floor and the way it bubbled up as she said the banishment spell. It hadn't been Stiles, but the—_

"Lydia?" Warm, concerned eyes meet hers. "What is it?"

"The nogitsune." She breathes and it all comes streaming back—Stiles being possessed, Isaac being hurt, going to the warehouse armed with the banishment spell—

_Then, we'll die together!_

"It was the nogitsune." She whispers, the memories coming through the cracks, like water through a broken dam. She remembers it all now, every single little detail. She turns to face Stiles and with a grim realization, she comes to the conclusion that this isn't her Stiles. This wasn't even her world. It was too perfect; too fake, to be her life. This was the world she used to dream about when she found out she was a banshee, the Hallmark-esque perfection of it all. "Who are you?" Stiles, or should she say who he really is, claps slowly, a malicious smile spreading out on his lips.

"Wow, you really are as smart as they say," He applauds her, rising from her bed. She jerks out of his grasp and feels her back come to rest against her bedroom door. He chuckles, dark and sinister. "You broke my spell and figured it out."

"What did you do?" She hisses, anger being a better defense than the all-consuming fear that she feels in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't show weakness, not now, not after coming this far. She had beaten him once and she would do it again.

Lydia Martin did not give up.

Lydia Martin did not lose.

"I gave you what you wanted!" It shouts, disbelief coloring its tone. "Your fantasy world complete with the guy you're secretly in love with." He gestures to her bright room, sunlight covering nearly every inch of it. "I was going to give you a few more hours to enjoy it but . . ." The voice fades. Its gaze darkens. "Since you figured it out, we can drop the pretenses, can't we?"

"What are you talking about?" She needs a weapon or something, but her body is paralyzed. She can't seem to move. "Where are we?"

"Your subconscious." The nogitsune supplies.

"My . . . what?"

"Pay attention, Lydia," It reprimands in a false tone. "This is pretty important. See, you and I? Were in a bit of a bind." The monster smirks. "I'm dying since you banished me. But you? You can recover, but I don't think that's quite fair, do you?" It moves closer to her and she forces her gaze to be steady. She won't be intimated, not in her own mind. "If I go down, you're going down too."

"You have no power here," She growls. "This is my mind and—" A throwing star whizzes by and grazes her cheek. A small cut appears, a drop of blood rolls down her cheek.

"Wanna bet?" It challenges and Lydia suddenly realizes that this is no bluff. This monster is going to kill her in her own subconscious. She can't let that happen. Fumbling with the door behind her, she throws it open and begins to sprint down the stairs. "You can run, but you can't hide!"

She has to find a way out.

* * *

><p>"How can we stop this?"<p>

They're in a conference room in the hospital that Melissa managed to commandeer. Seated around the small table, Stiles can close his eyes and picture that he and Scott are back in elementary school at a student council meeting. Things had been so simple back then—Scott and he were just two goofballs that hung out together, Lydia didn't even know he existed, and there was no mention of anything supernatural. How had his life changed so much? When did he trade in his childhood for this? The girl he loves—yes, he does love her and he has ever since the day he first met her—is slowly dying because of a force that had once possessed him.

He has to make things right.

If he loses her—

"Mrs. McCall!" The door bursts open and Isaac runs in, eyes wide. Immediately, Stiles rises from his chair, as does Melissa, and without a word, they are following the werewolf down the hall and into Lydia's room. Alison dabs furiously with a white piece of gauze at Lydia's cheek. A gash, that Stiles knows wasn't there before, continues to bleed, undeterred by the hunter's efforts. It's not a deep wound, but the sight of it still disturbs Stiles. "She just got this."

"Spontaneously." Alison adds softly. Melissa shakes her head.

"It needs stiches?" The nurse questions, trying to remain practical.

"No, I don't think so." Alison answers quietly and sure enough, the bleeding stops. "What was that?"

"The nogitsune." Stiles replies. "That's how it plans on killing her. Whatever is going on in her head—"

"Is happening to her physically." Melissa completes. "How can we stop this?"

_You're too good for instructions. You don't need them._

"I've never seen anything like this before." Alison confesses.

"There must be some way." Isaac presses. "We can't just give up."

_You can do this, Stiles._

"We'll figure it out." He whispers, taking Lydia's hand within his own and squeezing it. Whatever she was fighting, she wouldn't be alone for much longer.

It's a promise.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__Next chapter, the pack finds a way to help Lydia, but will it come too late? Please review if you have a second! Thanks. _


	9. Pain

_**Author's Note: **__My apologies on the long delay! I'm back now and am ready to wrap this story up with lots of Stydia goodness! Please enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

><p>"<em>I feel the beating of your heart <em>

_I see the shadows of your face _

_Just know that wherever you are _

_Yeah, I miss you _

_And I wish you were here."_

—_Lifehouse, "From Where You Are"_

* * *

><p>"You're beautiful."<p>

Jackson holds her in his warm arms as the music slowly plays on. Around them, couples shift side to side, their hands entwined. He's as handsome as ever and though she can't help but feel like something is off about this situation, seeing his face reassures her.

"Jackson." She glances up, meets his adoring gaze and she grimaces. Everything is perfect here—she's the best-dressed girl here; she has the perfect guy that clearly cares for her—and yet, her heart senses something wrong.

"Lydia," He leans in, his lips right by her ear. "What is it?"

She had been here once before, hadn't she?

Images of seeing Jackson kissing another girl, of Alison explaining how Lydia could make it up to her and then there had been—

"Stiles." She breathes.

The dance abruptly shifts into a forest.

Her prom dress is replaced with a ripped pair of faded jeans and a plain white t-shirt and she feels the urge to scream, though she isn't sure why. She recognizes this place—she's been here before, back when her powers first manifested.

"What is going on here?" She murmurs, turning her head to try and get a better view of her surroundings.

"I'd run if I were you." A voice hisses from behind and she spins around to see the nogitsune, still wearing Stiles' face grinning maliciously as he twirls a knife around in his hand. "I'll give you a head start."

And that's when he throws the knife at her.

* * *

><p>"Stiles."<p>

Alison passes him a cup of coffee and he nods his thanks, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. Normally, he'd keep away from the caffeine, but he's running on fumes and with everything on, he needs to be alert.

"You get ahold of Scott?" Stiles questions, his eyes never leaving Lydia's face. She's so still—deathly still—though every so often her expression will twinge with a hint of fear.

"He'll be here soon with Kira." She places a hand on his shoulder and its weight grounds him in the here and now. It reminds him that he's not alone here, that his family—the pack that he's a part of—will back him up and stay by his side. Regardless of everything that he's put them through, they're still here. "Isaac went to check in with Derek and see if he's found out anything new."

_I'm going to pull you back._

His grip on Lydia's hand increases ever so slightly as her voice fills his mind.

"We have to save her." He says, almost unnecessarily, because they will save Lydia because she is part of this pack, because she is the glue that helps hold them all together.

"We will." Alison whispers. "You know we will."

He nods his head and lets the noise of beeping heart monitor keep him focused on the moment. Leaning down, his lips almost touch her ear.

"We're coming, Lydia." He tells her softly. "Just hold on until then."

* * *

><p>The knife pierces her gut, burning and tearing her flesh apart.<p>

She gasps, as the pain hits her, staggering backwards, her hand catching onto a rock. She has to keep moving, that she knows, but the pain is overwhelming and her body protests. The rational part of her brain—somehow functioning through the pain, thank God—tells her to keep the knife in, but she has nothing to stabilize it with nor the time to fix it. Gritting her teeth, she grabs the knife and pulls it out.

"Ouch." The nogitsune smirks, leaning against a tree. "That looks painful."

The fact that she manages to shoot him a glare makes her a bit proud.

"You won't win." She growls, forcing herself to stand up. Blood stains her shirt and drips onto the grass, but she's still alive and still fighting.

She won't give up.

"It's not a matter of who wins and loses, per se." The nogitsune tells her, stepping towards her. She jerks back instinctively out of fear and his grin turns malicious. "It's just a matter of who can survive longer." He reaches out a pale hand to her, his icy fingers pushing a strand of hair out of her face.

"My friends—"

"Can't help you." The nogitsune informs her. "You're all alone, Lydia."

Is that true? Maybe the pack couldn't save her. Maybe she is just a hopeless case, trapped forever in her mind until the pain became too much, until her will to fight was extinguished forever.

There is no hope.

No one is coming for her.

"That's it." It purrs at her crestfallen expression. "You finally understand."

_We're coming, Lydia. _

"Stiles?" She breathes. "Where are you?"

"You're alone!" The monster roars.

_Just hold on until then._

"No, I'm not." She meets his gaze with a confident grin on her face. The pain lessens. "Not anymore."

She isn't going to roll over and die.

She would go down fighting.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__This chapter is shorter than usual, but that's because it's been awhile since I've written a chapter for this story. Longer chapters will be uploaded soon. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


	10. After You

_**Author's Note: **__For all those who wished that Stydia was canon instead of Stalia. Hope this chapter makes you guys feel a bit better after seeing the premiere! Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>"<em>If there's no one beside you<em>

_When your soul embarks_

_Then I'll follow you into the dark." _

—_Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Follow You Into the Dark"_

* * *

><p>"You sure this will work?"<p>

It's Alison that voices the concern, eying Peter with a wary glare. Not that Stiles can blame her, given Peter's history with their pack and Lydia more specifically.

"I wouldn't have brought him," Derek shoots a glare to his uncle who seems at ease with their evident discomfort at having him here. "If I wasn't positive. He can get inside Lydia's mind—"

Stiles' fist clenches at that thought because he remembers Peter getting in Lydia's mind before and how it almost drove her off the deep end, how they almost lost her because the emergence of her powers coupled with the fear that she was going crazy had smothered the sassy and strong side of Lydia Martin that he loved. He doesn't want to risk that happening to her again.

Scott places a reassuring hand on his shoulder and Stiles remembers to breathe.

"Isn't there another option?" Kira questions. "I mean, Lydia used a banishment spell, so why can't we?"

"That only worked because Lydia and Stiles have a connection that ground each other, so to speak." Derek answers. "Regardless, the nogitsune is feeding off of Lydia to survive. A banishment spell might cause more harm than good."

"So, what then?" Isaac mutters. "How can we defeat them?"

"Lydia's suffering physical injuries that reflect ones in her subconscious." Scott mutters. "Then, if we kill the nogitsune in her mind, it would die right? Not come back?"

"That's correct." Peter answers. "Hence, why I need to—"

"Why can't I do it?" His best friend questions and Peter sighs. "I'm an alpha—"

"You'd just slow me and Stiles down." Peter replies dully.

Scott just glares at him.

"Look, I get it, you don't trust me. Fine." Peter hisses. "I screwed Lydia over once before but I assure you that I'm here to help bring her back." There's a rare sincerity in Peter's voice that gives them all pause. "You don't want me to do it? I'll walk away—" He rises from his chair, only for Derek to pull him back down.

"What's in it for you though?" Isaac presses and Alison nods her head vigorously.

"It doesn't matter." Stiles mutters, meeting Peter's gaze. "But, I swear to God, if you hurt her then—" His voice rises in anger, but he's quickly interrupted.

"Save me your threats, would you?" Peter leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. "Let's just get this ball rolling, shall we?"

Scott glances at Stiles and it registers that his best friend is leaving him to make the call. He smiles his gratitude before nodding his head and letting a shaky breath out.

Saving Lydia is the main priority and if that meant working with Peter, then Stiles is willing to take that risk.

"What do we have to do?" He questions.

Peter just grins.

* * *

><p>"I've stabilized her as best I can." Mrs. McCall informs them as Stiles, Peter, and Scott enter Lydia's room. The nurse seems exhausted and it occurs to Stiles that she had been on her way home when they found out the nogitsune's true plan. Melissa hasn't slept or rested since Lydia was admitted. She's been here, helping them, giving them hope that everything would be okay.<p>

"Thank you." Stiles tells her, meaning it from the bottom of his heart.

"I'll be right outside," She glances at Scott as well. "If you need me." With a curt nod to Peter, she pushes the door out to the hallway.

"You sure about this?" Scott mutters as Peter glances over Lydia's pale form. Derek's uncle grimaces at seeing her pale face and her slowly turning crimson bandages.

"Not really, no." He confesses.

"Change of plans." Peter announces suddenly, his eyes still locked on Lydia's face. "Scott, you're doing it."

"Me?" Scott echoes. "Why—?"

"Lydia doesn't have time for us to go into detailed explanations now." He snaps. "Just listen to me and I'll coach you through." He pushes a chair towards Lydia's bed. "Stiles, sit."

He does so and Peter pushes Scott to stand in the middle of the gap between the chair and Lydia. With a gentleness and Stiles didn't think possible, he pushes Lydia onto her side.

"What are you doing?" Stiles snaps, seeing the blood flow increasing.

"For this to work, Scott has to insert his claws into her neck and yours." Peter places pillows on either side of her, trying to steady her body. "Okay, you ready?"

Scott's claws appear and Stiles steadies himself.

"Good luck."

The last thing Stiles can recall is the sharp pain of his best friend's razor sharp claws piercing his neck.

* * *

><p>Stiles opens his eyes and finds himself in the forest, the one that he's found himself in so many times before. His boots crunch under the dirt and twigs and he wonders why exactly he's here.<p>

"Scott?" He calls, moving towards the distance, not sure exactly what he's looking for. "Lydia?"

There's no response.

"Well, this isn't creepy or anything." He mumbles as he continues moving. The woods seem to stretch on endlessly into the horizon and he's not sure exactly what's he looking for. How will he find Lydia? Where is Scott? "Hello? Anyone?"

He hears a crunch of a branch and he freezes, ready to flee should he have to. He doesn't have his trusty baseball bat in here to back him up and frankly, he isn't the best fighter around. He spins around, trying to pinpoint the noise when a knife is pressed up against his neck and a slim arm restrains him.

"Stop." He knows that voice seething with anger and his heart skips a beat. "You can be anyone but him."

"Lydia?" He breathes. "It's me."

The knife presses in harder to his neck and he's sure he feels blood rolling down his neck.

"Woah, hey, take it easy!" Stiles panics. "It's me, okay? Lydia, it's Stiles. Really, okay? I promise."

The knife vanishes and he lets out a shaky breath.

"Stiles?"

He turns around and though she's bloody and bruised, she's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. Her strawberry blonde hair flows in the wind and her green eyes sparkle in the rays of sunlight. She's ripped her shirt and made some sort of make shift compress to suppress the bleeding from an obvious stab wound.

"Lydia." He breathes and without thinking, he reaches for her and tugs her into his arms. She feels so fragile in his grasp, but as her hands encircle his waist, he senses the hidden strength within her.

She's a fighter.

"You're real." She whispers and he holds her tighter in his grasp, relishing the feel of her. "God, Stiles, I thought—"

"It's okay." He assures her. "Now, how about we finish this, okay?"

She gives him a watery smile.

"Yeah." She says softly. "Together."

Together—it's the best word he's heard her say in a long time. For this one moment, everything is perfect.

And then all hell breaks loose.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__Please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


	11. Hanging On

_** Author's Note: **__We're coming to the end of this story! Only a few more chapters left. Thanks for hanging in there with me! Please enjoy this chapter._

* * *

><p>"<em>This could be the end of everything<em>

_So why don't we go_

_Somewhere only we know?"_

—_Keane, "Somewhere Only We Know"_

* * *

><p>"Well, well, well, look at what we have here."<p>

A voice rings out from behind them and instantly, Stiles' hand slips into hers and she's forgotten how right his warm hand feels in hers, how wonderful it is to have someone by her side once more. Her heart skips a beat as the nogitsune emerges, wearing a twisted parody of Stiles' grim that she adores so much.

"Stay away from us." She growls, feeling a surge of energy course through her body.

"You brought friends to this party without telling me, Lydia." The nogitsune chides her, leaning casually against a tree trunk. Around them, the forest seems to still—all noises cease and the sun ducks behind a cloud. Standing there, Lydia wonders briefly if this is how it ends—this cat and mouse game with this monster might end here and now.

The other Stiles chuckles darkly at her panicked expression and she grimaces, trying to retain some shred of calm. She is in charge here and she won't lose this battle in her own mind.

"Stiles." The monster wearing his face acknowledges the newcomer to this realm. "But, aren't you two missing someone? A certain werewolf friend?"

"What did you do—?" Stiles starts, but the nogitsune doesn't let him get that far before cutting him off.

"To precious Scott? Nothing." Then, with a dark glint in his eyes, he adds, "Yet."

"If you touch him—" Lydia begins, fury rising within her.

"What are you going to do, Lydia?" The monster snaps, coming away from the tree. The world around them shifts and she finds herself back in the warehouse where this all began. How many times had she been asked that question and how many times had she given her response?

"Lydia." Stiles breathes, his eyes locking onto hers and she knows what needs to happen, what she needs to do. Taking a few steps forward, she meets the nogitsune's eyes and finds an odd sense of comfort at how they differ from Stiles'. There are no traces of joy or warmth or anything that made Stiles the boy that she loved.

"Tell me, Lydia," The nogitsune seems to know what she's thinking. "What are you going to do?"

"It's simple," She tells him, finding strength in Stiles' presence by her side. She's not alone, not anymore. "I'm going to stop you."

The warehouse disappears and they stand on the rooftop of the hospital. The stars twinkle down at her as the moon shines bright in the darkened sky. The city skyline sparkles in the distance. A breeze ruffles her hair and it's funny, this is the kind of night that her romantic comedies would love, the perfect setting for confessions of true love.

But this isn't one of her movies and her life is on the line here.

She won't lose.

"Challenge accepted." The nogitsune says with a malicious grin.

There's a flash of light and when Lydia can see once more, she and Stiles are standing in the middle of the hospital lobby.

* * *

><p>The hallways of the hospital keep switching and to Lydia, it feels like she's wandering around in aimless circles. She hears distant screaming, but she isn't sure who is calling out for help or whether she's just imagining it. Can she go crazy in her own mind? Is that even possible?<p>

"C'mon, Scott," Stiles whispers, by her side as they round another corner only to face another endless hall. "Give us a sign or something."

"Scott!" Lydia calls out, her voice bouncing off the walls as it echoes around them. "Maybe he—"

There's a roar that resounds through the halls and instantly, Lydia picks up the pace, practically sprinting as she rushes to help her friend. The duo finds Scott locked in battle with the wall.

"Scott!" Lydia shouts and the alpha spins on her and it takes her one second too long to realize that there's no recognition in those crimson eyes. His hand is on her neck and he squeezes.

"Stop, Scott!" Stiles pulls on his friend's hand, but the banshee knows that he won't be able to break the werewolf's iron grip. Her vision is blurring at the edges and summoning her strength, she knees him in the groin. Scott howls and drops her and she shakily moves away, gasping for breath.

"Scott, this isn't you!" Lydia manages to tell him, but the alpha has recovered and it's clear that her words aren't getting through to him.

"Lydia, we gotta get out of here!" Stiles shouts, but she can't back away, not anymore. This is her mind and she won't let the nogitsune get his way.

"Stiles, stand back." She orders calmly, taking a step towards the growling werewolf.

"What are you—?" Stiles begins, but Lydia holds hand up for silence.

"Trust me." She glances at him and he nods in return. "Scott?" The alpha glares at her, growling and ready to pounce. This is risky, she knows, but she has a theory and though she'd like more time to test it, they're out of time. "Scott, come back."

The alpha hisses as she places a hand on his shoulder, but the contact seems to ground him.

"This is my mind," She begins, forcing herself to imbue each word with confidence. The truth is, she's still terrified of the nogitsune, but she'll be damned if she loses this battle in her own head. She's in charge here. "And I want you back, Scott."

The red eyes shift back to normal and the fangs disappear. Within a few moments, the werewolf is gone, leaving Scott McCall in its place. He shakes his head, perplexed and then glances from Lydia to Stiles.

"What happened?" Then, seeing the red marks on Lydia's, he grimaces. "Lydia, did I—?"

"It's okay." She interjects, grinning. "I'm just glad you're back."

"So," He takes a look at the hospital hallway, now eerily quiet. "You want to catch me up on what's going on?"

"Yeah, that sounds good." Stiles motions for them to head through a conference door. The trio sits around a small table in a windowless room. The room itself is sparsely decorated and she wonders if that's the nogistune's doing or her own mind playing tricks on her.

"Lydia?" Scott's gaze is calm and it helps keep the inner storm raging within her at peace.

"Here's what I know." She begins.

And her story comes out.

* * *

><p>"How is it going?" Mrs. McCall closes the door behind her as she comes to stand beside Peter. She doesn't know the older werewolf very well, though what she has heard from Scott hasn't exactly painted him in the most glowing picture, but Derek seems to trust him and for the moment, that's good for her.<p>

"There was a moment when Scott looked ready to pull out, but he seems fine now." Derek explains and she glances at her son, his eyes shut in a look of sheer concentration and she marvels at how he continues to function. He and his pack—that never got easier to think about—have managed to save this town how many times now? And all the while, they still managed to be kids. They went to parties; they did homework and tried to be normal.

Melissa is really in awe of them actually.

"Will you take a look at Lydia's neck?" Peter addresses her and Melissa snaps out of her reverie and immediately, turns to the unconscious girl on the bed. Angry purple bruises litter her neck and the veteran nurse stifles a gasp. These wounds indicated a severe strangulation attempt and it was lucky that Lydia's windpipe hadn't been crushed.

"Someone strangled her?" Melissa questions, though neither of the Hales answer. She makes a mental note to get another IV started and to fetch some ice before backing away from the bed. "Do you think . . .?" She hesitates, unsure if she wants to hear the answer. "Do you think they'll all come back safe?"

Derek doesn't answer.

"Of course," Peter tells her with a forced smile. "Don't worry."

It doesn't settle her nerves.

* * *

><p>"So, if I die here, then . . ." She starts, her gaze downcast, locked on the grey carpet conjured by her own mind. Hearing what's been going on in the real world—at what the nogitsune is willing to do to achieve its goal—it makes her sick. What if she can't beat this monster? Would she be trapped here for an eternity? Or would the demon get control of her body, like it promised it would?<p>

"It's over. You'll die out there too." Scott states quietly.

"That's why we have to get the nogitsune first." Stiles tells her and she grimaces. The situation is dire—that much is apparent—but she isn't sure how she can win here. Yes, it may be her own mind, but the nogitsune seemed to be able to control it better than her. True, she had that moment with Scott, but could she replicate something like that again?

"Lydia." She meets Scott's gaze. He's become a good friend to her and she wishes the old Lydia could see her now. What would she think of her life? Here she is, part of a werewolf pack, fighting demons and falling in love with the geekiest boy in school. It amazes her how much people could change in such a short amount of time.

"I'm okay." She lies.

"We'll get you out." Scott reassures her and she grins at him, grateful for the reassuring words.

"Of course we will!" Stiles exclaims. "This isn't even the worst situation we've been, right?" He chuckles and she finds herself brightening. Leave it to Stiles to lighten the mood. "The three of us, we've got this."

"Right." Scott nods his head in agreement.

"Then," Lydia beams, rising from her seat. "Let's end this."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__Next chapter, final showdown with the nogitsune! Please review if you have a second. Thanks! _


	12. Batter Up

_** Author's Note: **__Here's the start of the battle you've been waiting for! Thanks for sticking with me throughout this story. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>"<em>She's a rebel<em>

_She's a saint_

_She's salt of the earth_

_And she's dangerous."_

—_Greenday, "She's a Rebel"_

* * *

><p>"Alison?"<p>

Sheriff Stilinksi sees her and she jumps up from her chair, Isaac steadying her as she sways. It's been three hours since Scott and Stiles entered Lydia's mind and the young huntress is running on sheer adrenaline and caffeine now.

"Sheriff." She greets, and it's clear that Stiles' father isn't functioning much better than she is at the moment; his eyes wild with worry and his teeth clenched. "They're still in there." She points to Lydia's room, the one that they're currently not allowed to enter and that alone is killing Alison as well as the not knowing how it is going. She hates being useless and she wishes that there were something—anything—that she could do other than sitting in this well-worn chair in this brightly lit hallway.

"No news?" The older man presses and Alison shakes her head. His expression turns downcast and she knows that she can never understand how he feels, to lose a son only to get him back and now, to possibly lose him once more.

"Lydia's in good hands." Isaac points out softly. "They'll come back together."

"You don't know that." Sheriff Stilinksi mutters, sitting down in a chair.

The door opens, and suddenly, the trio are up on their feet only for Melissa to emerge. Scott's mother sees their hopeful expressions and with a tight smile, shakes her head.

"They're still fighting." Melissa says, as if she knows the group needs to hear it. "We shouldn't lose hope."

And there's something comforting in her tone of voice, something that makes this unbearable waiting somehow all right. All they can do is sit here and hope for the best; that truly is their only option as much as it kills them to have it be so.

"It'll be okay." Alison whispers, sitting back down. Isaac's warm arm wraps around her shoulder and she shuts her eyes, thinking of Lydia, and knowing her best friend wouldn't just roll over and die.

No, Lydia Martin wouldn't go down without a fight.

That gives Alison hope.

* * *

><p>"Where are we?" Scott asks as the trio pushes open the hospital's conference room doors and end up in what looks to be a huge white room. There are no visible walls and as Lydia looks up, she can see endless lighting fixtures that seem to stretch on for what seems like eternity. The floors are white marble, so pristine that the strawberry blonde can see her face reflected in it.<p>

"I don't know this place." Lydia mutters, glancing up from the floor and taking a few steps forward. Her shoes click on the floor, echoing as loud as gunshots, but she forces herself to keep moving. She won't fear the Nogitsune any longer.

"This is your mind, Lydia. This room could be anything to you." A voice resounds and she spins around to see the Nogitsune. Seeing his twisted smirk on Stiles' face sickens her to her very core. Stiles stiffens beside her and Scott's claws descend, but the Nogitsune did not even react. He continues to grin maliciously and though it sends a chill down her spine, she stands her ground. She's tired of running, of being afraid—she will end this.

"Get out." Lydia hisses, borrowing strength from both Stiles' and Scott's presence. "Now."

"You're giving orders." It laughs and it's a ghostly imitation of Stiles'. "Cute."

Scott growls, low and loud and she can tell that he's getting ready to change. The Nogitsune faces him and chuckles darkly. With a wave of its hand, Scott goes flying back for what seems like an eternity before crashing onto the ground.

"Scott!" Lydia cries, wanting to rush to him, but the Nogitsune suddenly blocks her path. In another second, Stiles is crashing onto the floor as well.

"I'm done playing, Lydia." It snarls. A knife appears in its hand she realizes that this is her last chance—this is her only moment to kick the Nogitsune out and return back to the real world safe and sound. "Let's end this, shall we?"

It charges and she dodges quickly, the knife nicking her cheek. It stings, but she doesn't have time to process it because the Nogitsune spins around and waves a hand at her. A gust of wind blows through her hair and she feels herself flying back until her back crashes into an invisible wall. She gasps, the air leaving her lungs, and falls onto her knees.

"I expected more, Lydia." The Nogitsune tells her, sinister. "Is that all you have?"

"No." She gasps, blood dripping from her lips as she pushes herself up from the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Scott stirring and Stiles is standing up, swaying slightly. "Not even close."

This is her mind; there must be a way for her to control it, like she did with Scott earlier. If only she could find a way out to trigger it!

"Stay away from her!" Stiles shouts and he's running over to her and the Nogitsune and she realizes too late what a mistake that is, because this is what the Nogitsune has been counting on. The knife is about to be buried into his gut, a fatal wound.

"Stiles, no—!" She reaches out, as if she can pull him out of the immediate danger, but the Nogitsune is faster and clearly a master of operating in this environment.

It hits her then—Stiles is going to die because of her.

And that is unacceptable.

Her scream resounds in the air, drowning out anything else, and it seems to slow down time. The Nogitsune acts as if it is moving through molasses and it gives her chance. Her scream fading, she reaches out a hand to Stiles and with a flick of her wrist, moves him out of harm's way.

"Lydia." Scott is at her side, fully transformed and she doesn't have time to process what she just managed to do.

"Clever." The Nogitsune snarls, turning around to face her. "But a few parlor tricks aren't going to keep you safe." He waves his hand and the white room shifts once more and she glances around to see herself standing in the middle of the football field, the stadium lights blinding her.

"Wait." She pauses, glancing down at her outfit, and yes, she is back in that dress she wore when she almost died from a werewolf attack.

"Lydia." Stiles is across the field and the déjà vu is hitting her full force now because he had been there for her too, that night before she knew the truth, before she grew to love him.

But he had never wavered, not in his feelings or in his actions towards her.

"I figured this would be fitting." The Nogitsune steps between them, blocking him from her view. He smirks, though the smile is twisted and fills her with dread. "After all, you did almost die this night."

"How do you—?" Stiles growls, but the monster cuts him off.

"I know everything about Lydia." It chuckles. "You don't just end up in someone's mind and not take the time to get to know him or her." It takes a few steps towards her and she backs up slightly, unsure of what its next move is. "And this night," It gestures to the football field around it. "You still think of it, don't you?"

Another steps towards her, another step back.

"You still think about the endless what-ifs that this night held. For example, what if Jackson hadn't been the one that attacked you?" It snaps its fingers and a roar fills the night air.

"No." She breathes.

"Have fun." It tells her with a smirk.

Without another word, she and Stiles begin to sprint.

* * *

><p>"What is after us?" Stiles shouts as they keep running, though the field seems to extend out forever. Maybe it does, another one of the Nogitsune's tricks, but she doesn't have time to deal with it.<p>

Right now, survival is her main priority.

"Honestly?" She huffs, wishing she had a moment to stop and kick off her high heels but she can't risk it. "I don't want to know."

"Lydia, we have to find a way out—"

"I know!" She snaps and he grabs her shoulder, jerking her to a stop. Her eyes widen, fearfully. "Stiles, what are you—?"

"You," He tells her forcefully. "You have to find a way out."

"I am—" She tugs at him, but he remains rooted in place.

"No, Lydia." He repeats. "You have to use your mind, like you did with Scott. You have to outthink him."

"I don't know how I did that, Stiles!" She hisses, shaking her head and the howling grows louder. "We don't have time to argue—"

"Think, Lydia!" He insists and she can see the enraged werewolf—it might be Scott or maybe it is Jackson but she doesn't have time to think about that—racing towards them. "Lydia, c'mon, think!"

There's so much going on and it's too much information to process. Her body is shaking with fear and worry and there's a force building up within her that she can't control.

"Lydia—"

More howling.

"You can do this—"

She can't. She's not in control and she's going to lose—

"Lydia, if you can't do this, we're both going to die!"

That snaps her out of it.

"Enough!" She shouts, an otherworldly force behind it and the scene shifts. The monster chasing them fades away and she and Stiles finds themselves back in the white room.

"Interesting." The Nogitsune grimaces. "But you're going to lose."

"What did you do with Scott?" Stiles questions and the lips of the Nogitsune twists upwards in a warped smile.

"Here." With a snap of its fingers, Scott unceremoniously appears, bloodied and bruised. "Fun fact: did you know that Lydia has had some pretty dangerous nightmares?" It chuckles darkly.

"Scott." He stands up with Stiles support, blood dripping down his chin. "You okay?"

"I'll heal." He manages to say and Lydia faces the Nogitsune once more.

"Get out." She growls, taking a step towards the monster.

"Oh, look at you." It laughs. "You really think that you can stop me." It meets her challenge and begins to saunter towards her. "But what good are you, Lydia?"

"Shut up." She warns because she's done with this creature tormenting them and causing them to doubt their self-worth. She's ready to go back to her own life and be with her friends.

"What's the point of continuing the charade?" It asks her. "You're never going to win. I've still got the trump card."

Another snap of its fingers and Scott is suddenly doubled over, coughing up blood. It hits her then, as she sees one of her closest friends gasping for breath, that if Scott and Stiles stay in her mind, they could die here.

"Stop!" She shouts.

"Make me." It challenges and she's desperate and with a wave of her hand, the Nogitsune goes flying backwards; however, it picks itself up quickly and Scott's condition is clearly deteriorating. She waves her hand again, desperate to stall for time. The monster goes back a bit farther and with the few precious minutes she gets, the banshee rushes to Scott and Stiles.

"Scott, hey, look at me." Placing a hand on his face, she waits for the Alpha to meet her gaze. "You and Stiles need to get out of here."

"No." Scott protests weakly.

"Listen to me," She presses. "I can handle this. You and Stiles need to get out—"

"Lydia, no—" The blood is becoming darker in color now and it sickens her.

"Scott, now." She orders. "Get out now." She smiles softly, placing a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Go."

Shutting her eyes, she waits.

When she opens them once more, Scott and Stiles are gone.

"Guess it's just you and me now." The monster cackles and Lydia stands up, prepared.

"Guess so."

She's ready.

* * *

><p>"Scott?"<p>

He opens his eyes to meet his mom's relieved gaze.

"Mom?" His voice slurs, thick with exhaustion. There's a linger of some phantom pain that he can't quite grasp still coursing through his body but as his mom helps ease him up, he checks himself over.

"You were losing a lot of blood." The concerned mother informs him, her arm securely wrapped around his back as she holds her son. "Peter was about to pull you out when—"

"Lydia." Scott whispers and he forces himself to stand up. He sees her limp form on the bed, pale and unmoving and he grimaces. The battle isn't over—far from it—he's just been removed from the field of play. "She sent us out."

"And now she's all alone." Stiles mutters as Derek helps him stand. The teenager sways for a moment before righting himself.

"We have to go back." Scott turns to Peter, determined.

"No way." Peter shakes his head. "Scott, you nearly died in there—"

"Lydia needs us!" The teenager insists, voice rising. "We can't abandon her!"

"We're not." A voice speaks up from the back of the room. Deaton stands in the doorway, nodding his head in greeting. "My apologies for how long it's taken me to get here. I had to double check a few things to be sure."

"You found something?" Derek ventures and Deaton comes to stand by Lydia's beside. He takes her hand within his, and then checks for a pulse.

"Yes," He answers, then grimaces. "But we haven't got much time." He turns to Stiles. "Stiles, you're the only one who can help her, but I can't guarantee your safety, is that clear?"

"I get it." The younger man replies quickly. "Just tell me how to help her."

"There's a spell, one that I managed to find." He drags a chair over to the side of Lydia's bed and motions for Stiles to sit in it. "It can allow for one consciousness to enter into another for a short period of time."

"How short?" Melissa asks, her expression drawn in worry.

"Fifteen minutes, max." Deaton tells her. "And once the spell starts, there's no way to pull Stiles out until that time is up."

"I don't care what the risks are." Stiles begins emphatically. He sits in the chair and grabs Lydia's hand within his own, pressing a kiss to the top of it in a tender gesture. "Saving Lydia is all that matters right now."

"Very well." Deaton responds. "I'm going to need you to close your eyes and repeat after me."

Stiles does so.

The Latin words roll off his tongue and in a matter of seconds, he feels as if he's flying. He arrives in Lydia's mind just in time to see her charge at the Nogitsune.

It's time to end this.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__Two more chapters after this. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


	13. Thoughts

_** Author's Note: **__The battle finally ends! I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p>"<em>I will fight for one last breath<em>

_I will fight until the end."_

—_Breaking Benjamin, "Dear Agony"_

* * *

><p>The clock ticking sounds like cannon fire in the silent hallway of the hospital. From her spot at the chair, Alison saw Deaton go in, heard from Scott what was about to transpire and she couldn't help but feel like this was the end. The Nogitsune was running out tricks to play and Lydia's body couldn't withstand much more.<p>

Either way, time is slipping away and soon, they'd have their resolution.

"Fifteen minutes." Scott mumbles and the Sheriff rises from his seat. weariness set into his features. Still, his eyes blaze with determination and with a purposeful stride, he heads into Lydia's room. The door shuts behind him and Alison grimaces, wishing she too could be inside.

Isaac's warm hand tightens slightly and she rests her head on his shoulder. The pack is here—she's not alone—and together, they would come through this.

"I bet she'll finish that thing off in ten." Isaac speaks up and some of the tension fades from the room.

"Me too." Alison echoes.

And the seconds keep ticking away.

* * *

><p>Lydia summons a blade to her hand and finds herself blocking the Nogitsune's dagger. The metal clangs, the force reverberating through her arm and she knows in that moment that she isn't going to be able to beat this monster with sheer force alone. She needs to be smart here—outthink the monster. How can she do that though?<p>

The blade nicks her other cheek and she hisses in pain as the blood drips onto the ground.

"You're getting distracted!" The Nogitsune chastises. "It'll kill you, you know."

"Lydia!" She hears Stiles' voice, far off and faint, yet growing stronger by the second.

"What?" She breathes. She sent Scott and Stiles out for a reason, to protect them! She isn't even sure that she can save herself and now, she's got to keep him alive at all costs. "Stiles!"

"Two against one?" The monster pouts, then its eyes alight with mischief. "That's not very fair."

Her body knows what it's going to do before her mind does.

Throwing her hands out, a gust of wind blows past her and pushes the Nogitsune back. Buying herself a few precious seconds, she moves towards Stiles and can't help the grin that alights on her face when his hand slips into hers. There's a power that's summoned whenever they're together—maybe that's what Deaton meant when he said they were each other's anchors—and she savors this quiet moment between them.

"We have to end this." Stiles tells her urgently and she nods her head, snapping out of it. Out of the corner, she sees the Nogitsune move towards them.

"How?" She asks, because they can't continue this cat and mouse game. Gaining a bit, losing a bit—they'll go on this way forever. "No matter what I try, it seems to always have a backup plan."

"This is your mind." He insists. "You've got home court advantage." He smiles weakly. "You are the only one that can beat him, Lydia."

"Yes, go on with your speeches!" The Nogitsune flashes a twisted grin. "I'll just stand here and wait." A glint of light flashes off its blade and she feels a chill run up her spine.

One of them is going to die here.

It sure as hell isn't going to be her.

"I've got an idea." She tells the boy beside her.

The room shifts and she finds herself standing out in a grassy field, moonlight illuminating the ground. A wind blows through the trees and dew sparkles on the grass. The forest is in the distance, the town far behind it.

"This memory?" The Nogitsune exclaims, and she knows from its slight confusion that she has the advantage.

"Where are we?" Stiles questions, eyebrows knit in confusion.

A howl echoes in the distance.

"This is my mind," Lydia reminds the monster. "And you aren't the only one with a few tricks left."

That's when she starts to scream.

* * *

><p>"And my son?" The Sheriff sees his son's hand holding Lydia's; his head slumped down in unconsciousness.<p>

"He'll be awake in 15 minutes, regardless of whether Lydia wakes or not." Deaton replies, glancing at the monitors.

"And if Lydia . . ." The word he's about to say feels awful on his tongue. "If she dies?"

Deaton doesn't hesitate.

"He'll die with her."

The Sheriff wants to scream, to punch someone, to rage about this wasn't fair, how he lost his wife, only to lose his son in the process. He can't take any more hits—he can't lose Stiles.

"And there's nothing you can do?" He would take his son's place in a heartbeat, if he could. There's nothing he won't sacrifice for his son.

"No." Deaton answers, frowning slightly. "Stiles knew the risks."

"So, what? I wait?" He's frustrated and is taking it out on Deaton, something Stiles would berate him for, he's sure.

"For the next ten minutes, yes."

Derek places hand a on the Sheriff's shoulder and there's something about it that gives the older man a sense of comfort.

"He'll be back." Derek informs him.

The wait goes on.

* * *

><p>The scream takes everything out of her, but she feels the reward of it immediately.<p>

"No way." Stiles breathes and Lydia grins as a hand is placed on her shoulder. She never thought she'd one day be grateful for these memories—the moments of hell that he put her through—but maybe they have a shot now.

"Lydia." Peter greets and she tries not to shudder at the coldness of his tone. "And two Stiles?" He glances between the two and frowns. "Why are there two?"

"Long story short," The banshee starts. "That thing is trying to kill me."

"And I care why?" He asks.

"If I die, there's no way you can come back."

That snaps Peter into action.

His claws descend and he snarls, fangs bared. Within seconds, the alpha is charging at the Nogitsune and while Lydia hopes that Peter will be able to get some major damage, she still needs to come up with a backup plan.

"This is odd." Stiles remarks and Lydia nods her head, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

"It's the only thing I could think of." She confesses sheepishly. "But Peter won't hold him for long."

The blade cuts into Peter's side and she winces at the blood pooling under him. It may only be a memory version of Derek's uncle, but it all feels so real. Then again, for her, the Nogitsune and Stiles, it is real. One mistake here could end their lives.

"You're clever!" The Nogitsune shouts as Peter's claws cuts into its shoulder. "Using a memory against me!" Black blood wells up and she stiffens. "But, you know you can't win like this."

The blade plunges into Peter's chest and he fades from view. The Nogitsune laughs maliciously, blood rushing from its wound. Still, it moves with an unnatural grace as it continues towards them.

"Stiles."

He meets her gaze and there's so much she wants to tell him in that moment—how much she cares for him, how happy she is that he's here—and if her life were a romantic drama, this would be the moment for her love confession.

"I know." He tells her quietly, squeezing her hand.

It's as close to an "I love you" as they'll get right now.

"Let's end this then."

Hands intertwined, they wait for the monster to come.

* * *

><p>Scott sits, his hand white knuckling Kira's.<p>

The kitsune tries to offer her support, but finds her own worries over taking her. They don't know if Lydia will open her eyes or whether Stiles will make it back. What good are they, just sitting here?

"Five minutes." Isaac mumbles and Kira bites her lower lip nervously.

"They'll be okay." Scott speaks up, voice hard. "I believe in them."

"I just wish we could do something." Kira remarks.

"We'll be here when they wake up." Alison tells her with a weary grin. "That's what matters."

"That's all we can do right now." Scott presses a kiss to her hand and Kira rests her head on his shoulder.

They're a pack and they'll be here for as long as it takes.

All they can do is wait.

* * *

><p>The Nogitsune smirks at her and she lets out a breath.<p>

This is the end.

"I'd say I'd miss you," The monster begins, almost comically. "But I won't." The moonlight glints off its bloody blade. "Die, Lydia!"

It charges and she pictures a blade in Stiles hand and one in her own. Stiles blocks the incoming blade, metal clanging and she maneuvers herself behind the monster, swinging her blade down. It scrapes the Nogitsune's back, but the monster moves away before more damage can be sustained.

"Get out of my head!" She screams, swinging the blade towards the monster, only for it to jump back.

It vanishes before her eyes and she knows too soon where it's going.

"Stiles!" She screams, seeing the blade being thrust towards him. She swings her hand out, the wind pushing the blade out of Stiles' direction. "Leave him alone!"

"You love him, I know." The Nogitsune informs her. He flashes a mischievous smile. "I'll enjoy seeing you suffer as his blood splatters over you."

That's when it hits her.

The Nogitsune has done everything it can to cause her to suffer, as if breaking her spirit is its main objective. She touches her cheek where it was cut and closes her eyes.

_Outthink him._

She's gets it now; sees the matching cut now on the Nogitsune's cheek.

"Cute." The monster hisses, clearly not amused.

Lydia's response is to place her blade to her heart.

Everyone freezes.

"Lydia." Stiles cautions.

"Giving up?" The Nogitsune challenges, forcefully nonchalant.

The blade cuts into her skin, blood welling up and she tries not to wince.

"What are you doing?" The monster snaps and she can see the matching wound on it now too.

"You need my body." She states, matter-of-factly, deliberately pressing the blade deeper. Pain flares up, but she does her best to ignore. "And you wanted to kill my spirit, but if I end my life, my body dies." She meets its gaze. "And you die with me."

"Lydia, no—!"

"You'd throw your life away!" The Nogitsune screams, desperate.

"This isn't much of a life!" She presses the blade in more and gasps in response.

"Lydia, stop!" Stiles screams and he's flickering before her. "Lydia, you can't—!"

"If you do this," The Nogitsune warns her, hands outstretched, almost as if pleading with her. "You'll die."

And then Stiles vanishes and her mind is made up.

"So will you." She replies.

_I'm sorry, everyone. _

Then, she plunges the dagger into her heart.

* * *

><p>Stiles opens his eyes just to see Lydia flat line. There's blood staining the sheets and as he's pushed away, all he can think is—<p>

Not again.

This can't be happening to him again.

"Lydia!" He shouts, voice raw.

Before he knows it, he's back in the hallway, his friends' concerned gazes sweeping over him.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__I know, evil cliffhanger. Epilogue will be up soon! Please review if you have a moment. _


	14. Finale

_**Author's Note: **__This story is finally ending. I'm sad, but also happy to move onto my next Stydia story. Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews! They meant so much for me. And without further ado, the happy ending I promised! Enjoy._

* * *

><p>"<em>Because you're not done<em>

_You're far too young_

_And the best is yet to come."_

—_Nickelback, "Lullaby"_

* * *

><p>Time moves in slow motion.<p>

Stiles can't comprehend it all—maybe this is his mind's way of processing the disaster that's unfolding before him.

Alison's screaming, trying to push herself into Lydia's room, only for Isaac's strong grip to pull her back. He's talking to her, but the words aren't having any effect on the young huntress.

Mrs. McCall is directing other nurses, though she seems stunned, her eyes fogged over and red-rimmed. Her son is gripping one of her hands, as if that connection can ground the both of them in this twisted reality. Other than that, the Alpha's face is impassive, save for the slight tremor that seems to run through his body.

"Please." Kira breathes, holding Scott's other hand. A tear is snaking its way down her cheek and she instinctively wipes it away, only for another to replace it.

Derek and Peter are out in the hall now, along with Stiles' father, having been pushed out by the flood of nurses and doctors responding to the alarm on Lydia's heart rate monitor. Peter shakes his head sadly, muttering something that Stiles cannot make out. Derek just stares at the door, as if that will magically make noise stop and reverse the scene that is playing out before them.

"No." Stiles says, fists clenched. "No!"

He's not losing Lydia Martin, not now, not after everything they've been through.

"Stiles—" His father is there and he has the same desperation in his eyes he had when he told his son about the death of his mother. It's a look that the teenager has never forgotten and has never wanted to experience again.

"Lydia." He has to go to her, find a way to get through to her.

"Stiles, no—" His dad is holding him back.

"Let me go!" Stiles shouts, struggling.

"There's nothing you can do!" His father protests, refusing to relinquish his hold.

"Let go!" He roars and it seems to reverberate down the hall.

"Stop, Stiles—!" His father's arms form a vice grip and he can't break free from it no matter how much he struggles.

The girl he's loved since third grade—the smart young woman he had been lucky enough to get to know—is dying in front of his eyes and he'll be damned if he just sits by and watches. There's something he can do, there must be!

The clock ticks, hands moving like molasses in winter.

"Lydia!" He screams, wishing that he wasn't so useless.

And the alarm continues to blare.

* * *

><p>"I hope you're satisfied."<p>

She's standing in the white room with the Nogitsune. The monster is bleeding heavily from the chest, and its face—the real face—is protruding through cracks appearing on Stiles' visage.

"You're dying." Lydia huffs, a hand clutching her gaping wound. She doesn't feel pain per se, but there's something disconcerting about seeing so much blood flowing past her fingers. "That's all that matters."

It laughs, low and dark.

"Yeah, but you'll get to come with me." It smirks, cracks spreading further like the face is made of porcelain. "Got to say, didn't know you had it in you to be so self-sacrificing."

"You don't know me." She hisses, as the world around her grows dimmer. Her life is slipping away, dripping down the drain just like the blood that she tries to hold back.

"Maybe I don't." The monster answers her, a moment of careful reflection entering its eyes, only for it to fade out of sight just as quickly. "Stiles will be heartbroken."

"Shut up." She's had enough of this monster's attempt to manipulate her emotions.

"What did he say? 'If you die I will go out of my mind' or something along those lines?" The Nogitsune steps towards her and smiles maliciously. The left side of the mask it wears falls, shattering into a thousand pieces on the ground. She shudders, seeing the dirty bandages revealed. "Maybe he'll join you. He's weak like that—"

The sound of her fist connecting with its face echoes around her. Stiles' face completely shatters and she stares at the jagged teeth, at the bloody bandages, but she doesn't waver, doesn't let her gaze drop.

Lydia Martin isn't afraid, not any more.

"Get out."

It chuckles once more, then dissolves like water.

It's over.

Her knees buckle—whether that's because of her injury or the sheer relief surging through her system, she's not sure—and she sinks down to the cold, tile floor. The oxygen flows out of her lungs and the world spins around her. Is this how it ends?

She blinks, slowly struggling to open her eyes.

"Stiles." Her voice breaks as hot tears burn her eyes. She loves him and she never got to tell him—it's a movie cliché she's seen a thousand times—but she gets it now, that desperation people in love have, that desire to hold the one you cared for close and never let go.

She's going to die here, cold and alone.

"Stiles!"

_Lydia!_

His voice resounds in her mind and there's a whoosh of air that blows past her. The white room shifts into Beacon Hills' local hospital, a place she knows better than she would like.

That's how she sees him, standing in the hallway, screaming at her.

"Stiles?"

Is she having an out of body experience? Or is this just a figment of her imagination?

"Lydia!" His hand is outstretched and she feels compelled to touch it. Reaching out, her fingers brush his and it's like a current passes through her. The jolt sends her flying and the colors swirl and blur before her.

Then, silence.

* * *

><p>"Lydia," Her third grade teacher stands before her desk, a well-worn smile tugging at her peach lips. "This is Stiles."<p>

"Who?" She places her tattered copy of _Mary Poppins _down before glancing up and meeting the gaze of the shy, scrawny boy practically hiding behind her teacher. He's wearing a faded grey t-shirt with a Batman logo on it and as she attempts to grin at him, he seems to fluster, nearly tripping in the process.

"Stiles," Her teacher repeats kindly. "He's your partner for our graphing project."

"Oh." Lydia mutters.

There's a pause as her teacher moves to the side and waits for the introductions to be made.

"I'm Lydia—"

"I know." Stiles interjects quickly. Then, his gaze drops down to the floor. "I, um, saw you on the first day of school."

"Right." She replies dryly, because yes, she should know him, but they are only three weeks into school and her books take up most of her time. Her mom is too busy fighting with her dad—screaming, throwing plates at the walls, and cursing each other out—and she escapes into the pages of her novels, into the solace they bring her.

"I'll leave you two to it then." In a flash, her teacher is gone, her attention turned to some other group.

"So." Stiles starts.

"You know how to do bar graphs?" She asks quietly, because the sooner she can get this done, the quicker she can head back to her book.

"Yes." The overconfident grin he shoots her betrays him.

"You don't, do you?"

"No, not exactly."

She isn't sure why, but she begins to chuckle.

"That's good." He comments and she tilts her head to the side in confusion. "Your smile."

"What about it?" She questions.

"That's the first time I've seen you smile." He says it so sincerely that it takes her aback for a few moments because it's true. She can't remember the last time she smiled—since before her parents started fighting, she's sure—and the fact that this boy noticed makes her feel important.

Someone still cares.

"Thank you, Stiles."

Three months later, he's the one that buys her another stuffed animal when her mother and father were too busy arguing to care.

It's the start of their relationship.

* * *

><p>At the dance, with the lights glowing above her, and the music playing all around her, she felt something.<p>

With Stiles' arms around her, she momentarily forgot about Jackson, about her struggles with trying to maintain her popularity, about whatever weirdness was going on in Beacon Hills. Nothing seemed to matter but her and him swaying on the dance floor while the rest of the school saw. Yes, Lydia Martin was at a dance with Stiles Stilinksi and maybe for a moment, she had even enjoyed it.

And then, before she could figure out exactly what the butterflies in her stomach meant, the moment ended.

* * *

><p>Kissing Stiles reignited the feelings and she knew—deep down she knew—that she was in love with Stiles. Once that became clear, the next course of action became obvious—tell him, see if he felt the same.<p>

She just never seemed to have a moment to tell him that.

* * *

><p>It struck her, seeing all the red string Stiles had in his room.<p>

She couldn't help but think as she toyed with a piece of it about the red string of fate, the symbol that some cultures believed to be the string that connected soul mates together. It was said the string could stretch and bend, but could never break.

"What are you thinking about?" He glanced over from his desk and she grimaced somewhat, placing the string down.

"Nothing." She lied.

"That's not your 'nothing' face." He retorted softly.

"I have a 'nothing' face?" She asked softly, slightly stunned. The Lydia Martin of the past never gave an inkling of her emotions, preferring to lock them up and prevent them from ever seeing the light of day.

"Lydia." He chided. "What is it?"

"The string . . ." Her voice faded somewhat as she held up a piece. "It's red."

"Yeah?" His tone left it open for further conversation, his eyes filling lighting with confusion.

"It's a myth," She tried to dismiss, but he sat down on the edge of his bed and waited. "It's said that the Gods tie red string around your pinky." She instinctively held hers up. "The string connects you to your soul mate."

Stiles didn't speak for a few moments, as if processing that thought.

"Is that so?" He finally managed to say.

"Yeah."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Hey, Lydia?"

He beamed at her.

"I'm glad that we met."

She just smiled, worries forgotten if only for a moment.

* * *

><p>He's crying in his father's arms, trying to remember how to breathe.<p>

In Lydia's room, he can hear the frantic attempts to restart her heart, each one failing.

"Please." He sobs, wishing that there were something he could do, instead of just waiting.

"Charging."

The pack is frozen, too afraid to take another step, as if making any sudden movement could finally be the tipping point in this dangerous game of cat and mouse.

"Clear!"

He can see her body arch off the bed and he holds his breath.

"Please, Lydia." He whispers.

The alarm silences.

"Is she—?" Alison starts, but her voice cuts off abruptly.

The heart monitor begins to beep normally once more.

* * *

><p>At precisely 4:33 pm, Lydia Martin returns from the brink of death, her heart restarted and her wounds stabilized.<p>

* * *

><p>She opens her eyes, the room blurry and bright.<p>

She blinks a few times, and then winces at the pain blossoming in her chest. Lifting her hands up, she touches her face, then pinches it. At the flash of discomfort, she grins. Her body is hers and only hers. The Nogitsune is gone, forever.

And Stiles?

She forces herself to sit up, only for a strong hand to stop her. Her eyes dart to the left and she finally sees the one person she'd been longing to see more than anything.

"Hey." Stiles greets her, voice rough, eyes red-rimmed. He holds her hand securely within his own, almost to the point of causing her some discomfort, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit how good it felt to have his hand in hers.

"Hey." She breathes, lips turning upwards in a smile. "Guess I didn't die, huh?"

Grief flashes in his eyes for the briefest of seconds, only to be replaced with sheer relief.

"Don't joke about that." He tells her, voice cracking.

"Sorry." She grimaces, wincing as her chest throbs.

"Don't be." He replies quickly. "Just . . . you scared the crap out of us, Lydia."

"I know." She whispers. "But, I had no other choice, the Nogitsune—" She sits up in alarm, pain rushing to meet her.

"Whoa, Lydia—"

"The Nogitsune," She starts urgently, facing Stiles. "Is it gone?"

"Yes." Stiles answers, eyes misting over. "Yes. It's gone."

"We've won then." Lydia breathes, allowing her head to fall back onto her pillow.

"You won, Lydia." Stiles corrects softly.

There's a bustle at the door. Lydia can glimpse Alison's face through the window and she knows that this time between her and Stiles is over.

"Stiles, I—"

The door bursts opens and she knows the moment has passed.

* * *

><p>He's reading to her—<em>Pride and Prejudice<em>, which, coincidentally, is one of her favorite novels—and though he's stumbling over some of the archaic language, she can't help but feel loved. Sure, she's had boyfriends before, but never had she felt the profound feeling that Stiles gave her—the belief that being with that one special person is as essential as breathing; the one she had been sure that she would never experience—and now, she's amazed that she had even tried to deny it.

"But this idea was soon banished, and her spirits were very differently affected, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Mr. Darcy walk into the room." His voice is soothing and she's doing her best to keep her eyes open.

"In an hurried manner he immediately began an enquiry after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She answered him with cold civility."

The pack had been in earlier and though medicine fogged her mind, she had been able to recall the tight hugs, the wet laughs, and the joy that came after what felt like an eternity of worry and fear. Now, with the monster finally vanquished, the pack could begin to heal and move on.

"He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word." She turned her head to face him. His eyes are trained on the page and his voice helps ground her, even though the medicine makes her feel spacey.

"After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began—"

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do." She begins to quote, meeting his eyes and reaching for his hand. He stills under her touch and the butterflies flap around in her stomach. She isn't sure if this is the best way to tell him, if he'll even understand or care, but she cannot go on like this any longer. No more denying it, no more waiting for the right moment. She has come too close to loosing it all and call it a cliché, but Stiles has to find out.

She has to tell him.

"My feelings will not be repressed." She squeezes his hand. "You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

There's a pause and her heart feels like it's pounding a mile a minute, though the heart monitor calmly beeps the steady rhythm.

Stiles doesn't speak, but simply flips the pages towards the back of the book.

Lydia tries not to let her face fall, still trying to cling to hope.

He coughs, clearing his throat.

"My affections and wishes are unchanged." He finally tells her, a cautious grin on his lips and while it's not the dream response she's seen in all of her romantic movies, it suits her. A quote from one of her favorite books and it gives her the answer she's been searching for what feels like years.

"You still care?" She asks him, needing to hear it from his lips.

He kisses her instead.

* * *

><p>They release her from the hospital two weeks later.<p>

Upon her return home, the pack throws her a welcome home party. She dances with Alison, laughs with Kira, even manages to get Derek to crack a smile.

"So, you doing okay?" Scott asks her, ever the concerned Alpha, as he hands her a glass of soda.

"Fine." She replies quickly. "Barely any pain at all now."

Scott nods his head, but she can tell by his demeanor that that wasn't the question he really wanted to ask about.

"And Stiles?" He meets her eyes there and she chuckles softly.

"He and I are together." It feels nice to say and though the two of them haven't officially been on a date, it feels like their relationship has finally come full circle.

"I'm happy for you." Scott informs her, patting her on the back.

"Thanks, Scott."

He just grins.

* * *

><p>"So."<p>

"So?"

She and Stiles are sitting on the couch, watching Scott and Kira shyly flirt and Alison tease Isaac. In the corner, Derek is observing them all, as if old habits die hard.

"So, you and I are a . . ." Stiles hesitates. "We're a, um, we're—"

"A couple." Lydia interjects. Her hand holding his reinforces what she's said.

"Right." He runs a hand through his hair, laughing shakily.

"And you . . . you're happy?"

She glances at him, confused slightly.

"Of course. Aren't you?"

"I am! Yes, of course!" He tells her quickly, voice rising. "It's just . . . I want to make sure this is what you want."

"Stiles."

"Yeah, Lydia?"

She kisses him, pouring every ounce of admiration and love that she feels for this boy and channel it through this kiss. When she pulls back, he seems fazed a bit.

"You are the one I want, Stiles." She explains, willing him to believe it. "And I know this is new, but you and I can figure it out together, right?"

A distant memory of standing in a forest with a metal trap around her leg and frantic Stiles before her fills her mind.

"That's what we do best, after all." He replies softly.

"Right." Lydia grins.

And as the music plays on, she rests her head on his shoulder and realizes that she's finally ended up where she's meant to be.

She's home.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note: <strong>__The end! I hope you enjoyed it. I have some more Stydia stories I plan on writing, as well as a few I've already written, but this was my first and as such, it grew to be my favorite one. I'd love to hear what you thought of the story. Thanks for reading it! _


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